


The Challenges of Love

by DandelionsInTheWind



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 2017 off-season + new season, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Drama, Engagement?, F/M, Family Drama, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Love dilemmas, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Saint Petersburg, Self-Improvement, Trauma, Unhealthy Relationships, Victor - an active skater & Yuuri's coach, Viktor's past, Yuri's past, lots of skating, overcoming of fears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2018-09-21 03:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 90,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9530570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DandelionsInTheWind/pseuds/DandelionsInTheWind
Summary: Yuuri moves to far-away Saint Petersburg, but nothing is the way it was supposed to be. Between Viktor's worrisome behavior, the stressful preparation for the upcoming season and Yuri Plisetsky's temper tantrums, Yuuri struggles to hold on to his love for Viktor and figure out the essence of what the two of them lost on their way to Russia.In the meantime, Viktor and Yurio are gradually confronted by their demons and the worst of their pasts, to an unknown end. The stakes are higher than ever - their performance throughout the season and relationships with their closest people.The gradual addition of Yakov, Georgi, Mila, Otabek, JJ, Lilia, and many others with their own personal problems and agendas will complete the experience of seeing our three main protagonists' lives flutter, reach new highs and lows, and evolve into something different altogether.(--> Neutral storytelling + some glimpses in Yuuri's diary and chapters/episodes told from Viktor's or Yuri P.'s POV.)





	1. A New Beginning

_Hello, everyone. It's me again, Katsuki Yuuri._

_World-class competitive skater, who won the silver in the 2016 Grand Prix of Figure Skating. Coached by none other than the great Viktor Nikiforov, legendary fellow skater, bearer of multiple gold medals… The one and only god of figure skating, if you ask me, and…_

_Oh, I can continue talking about Viktor all day, but I'll restrain myself for the sake of the story._

_The story, right…_

_In short: after the most embarrassing season ever, after I abandoned all hope of having any decent ice skating career and turned into a plump katsudon-addicted failure, out of the blue my ice skating idol Viktor Nikiforov landed in my hometown, became my coach and changed my life forever._

_How I deserved this, I have no idea._

_I still can't believe that all this happened to me. That I'm an actual champion. I… just still don't feel like it._

_Every day I wake up in my room at Viktor's house in St. Petersburg, I slap myself in the face to make sure the past months weren't just a dream._

_From a certain point of view, they are a dream. A dream come true._

_Shortly after I moved to St. Petersburg, Viktor, Yurio and I started preparing for the next Grand Prix, Viktor being both my coach and competitor. Like last year, he developed choreographies for both me and Yurio._

_While the previous season was all about love, this one is all about life._

_It all started on a sunny afternoon at the rink, where Viktor's been practicing his entire life._

 

...xXxXxXx…

Viktor Nikiforov stroked his chin mindfully.

"Hmm. Here I am standing once again in front of the challenge of bringing a shy rosy-cheeked pig and a nasty teenage cat to victory."

Yuuri flushed bright red and bowed his head down. _After everything we went through, he still regards me as a fat pig!_

Meanwhile, Yurio's face twisted into an angry grimace, his fists clenching. Viktor laughed whole-heartedly.

"Good to see that both of you have made such great progress in your attitude," he managed to say in the end. "It seems that my Yuuri has still much self-confidence to gain," the tall blonde winked playfully at the Japanese, whose face got even redder, before casting a meaningful glance at his fellow Russian. "As for you, Yuri number two – ever taught of attending anger management sessions? Yakov should certainly know a suitable psychologist…"

"Get on that rink and show us the cursed choreography, or you'll be the one, needing a psychologist, after I'm finished with you!" the already 16-year-old boy threatened, rolling his sleeves.

"Easy, Yurio!" a slightly panicked Yuuri exclaimed, placing himself between the two skaters.

"Shut up! It's his fault I haven't started practicing my short program. He's been teasing me with blank promises for weeks!" the boy shouted angrily. "It's high time you fulfilled them, Viktor," he demanded, his green eyes glinting dangerously.

Viktor was unimpressed by the scene, playing itself out before him.

_Why do I get the feeling I've ended up in a kindergarten instead of a skating rink? I certainly do not envy Yakov for having to deal with Yurio on a daily basis. For me even handling Yuuri was quite a challenge. Not was, it continues being. Hmm, I certainly was not an easy case when I was younger either. But with Yakov's help, I continued what I'd started on my own – getting to know myself, strengths and weaknesses, learning how to manage them and be in control of Viktor Nikiforov at all times. Or at least until Yuuri stormed into my life…_

"Take the delay as a sorely needed lesson in patience, Yurio. And now – before I show you the choreographies, you will hear the music. The only parallel to last year is that I've got two opposing variations of the same theme again. Here's the first one, named, "A story about life. By Oizys."

As the music ended, Viktor asked about their opinions on the piece.

Just like last time, it was Yuuri, who spoke first.

"This feels like all you've fought for has crumbled down, and you've ended up in a hole, there's no escape from." _I know the feeling better than anyone,_ the young man thought, deeply touched and saddened by the music.

"Excellent description, Yuuri. In this wonderful piece Oizys, the Greek goddess of misery, retells the moments of life, when, despite how much you give yourself away, everything goes wrong. When you struggle and fail to see a way out, a way forward.  
Now hear "A story about life. By Eutychia."

"Now this feels more like it!" Yurio exclaimed while the second song was still playing.

"Eutychia is the Greek goddess of good fortune. Her story is one of accomplishment, of being proud of yourself, from simply feeling good in your own skin, to the point of feeling untouchable. The heights of your life, when you know that all you need to succeed in something, is to wish it badly enough."

"The story of my life," Yurio said proudly.

"Maybe. But Yuuri Katsuki will be the one to present it."

The 24-year-old gasped barely audibly.

If looks could kill, Viktor wouldn't have survived Yurio's.

"No! You're not getting me stuck with Katsudon's music again! I don't care about the surprise element, I'm not skating for a gold medal on a losers' song!" Yuri Plisetsky proclaimed with finality.

"This is not for you to decide. If you wish so, choose the easy way and get Yakov to think out another choreography for you. But know this, Yurio – what I am doing right now is making you understand the moments in life you struggle with. A part of what drives you forward is your fear of failure. Believe me, I know," Viktor cast a meaningful glance over the teenager, whose protests were silenced for the moment.

"You will only learn to truly appreciate and celebrate success if you understand failure. If you let go of your fear to lose. This will also ease your stress during performances considerably. If you keep pushing yourself on competitions out of fear, you will inevitably burn out, Yurio. You have to enjoy yourself on the rink."

The teenager nodded begrudgingly with a deep frown and pursed lips.

Viktor sighed with relief. A self-assured smile crept upon his face, as he looked upon Yuuri.

"What I am going to teach you properly this season, is how to be a winner."


	2. Nights Out & Mysterious Smiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello from me first (before Yuuri greets you in Russian).  
> I appreciate the interest in the fanfic so far and I hope you enjoy the next chapters (which will be getting a little longer).
> 
> This one is entirely composed of an entry in Yuuri's diary, which won't be the usual case. There will also be chapters, without any diary entries.
> 
> P.S. Everything will be revealed in time. So, when you stumble upon something (like Barcelona), you can't quite grasp Yuuri's reactions to, don't mull it over too much.

_Здравствуйте! Меня зовут Юри. Я очень..._ _*_

_Eh, I'm switching to English before I've embarrassed myself with just how much I don't know Russian. No one is aware that I've been attending a language course for nearly a month. All for the better – I've no intention to go to Viktor and be like "You my Salchow like or no good?" in a heavily accented version of his mother tongue._

_For the record – my quadruple Salchows are even worse than my Russian these days!_

_On top of that, I just can't stop thinking about how different my life is now. It changed last year, but now it's changed beyond recognition._

_Everything is different – the atmosphere, the people (with whom I can hardly exchange a word unless they speak English), my training schedule… And maybe even Viktor._

_He may not admit it, but he must be under a lot of pressure with simultaneously coaching me, training with Yakov and supervising Yurio's progress in his short program._

_Viktor doesn't have any free time, and I am the one to blame for it! What a selfish idiot am I not to have thought before about what training me, while remaining an active skater, would cost him!_

_Oh, why do matters always have to be so complicated?!_

_To add more fuel to the fire, Viktor's developed the habit of going out late in the evening. I don't ask where. He doesn't ask me to join him. I respect his privacy. I don't have the right to stick my nose in how he chooses to spend his almost non-existent free time._

_Anyway – one of the factors, which, put together, nearly scared me off from moving in with Viktor, was that I'd never fit in his Russian clique. Maybe it's better that he never takes me with him…_

_Argh, who am I trying to fool? Myself? I'm cutting straight to the point! The truth is that I'm losing sleep to write nonsense right now only because I'm waiting to hear him come home!_

_I'm such a drama queen, I know. He's a 28-year-old man, and I'm worrying about him coming home late. But we're getting up early tomorrow, and I already spotted dark rings, forming under his eyes._

_He can't continue doing this! I can only hope Yakov will scold him on time for not getting enough sleep…_

_But, most of all, I hate the fact that Viktor's nights out sometimes seem to me like purposefully running away from home, so that he spends less time with me!_

_At times, I'm behaving like such a jealous fangirl!_

_It's not like we haven't spent time together outside the rink. We've gone sightseeing and shopping together…_

_I sigh. Memories flood my mind. Of Viktor, dragging me around a mall with a mischievous smile on his face, meaning trouble. Viktor, surprising me by suddenly whispering in my ear, the heat of his breath sending shivers down my spine…_

_It almost felt like Barcelona…_

_No! I will not think about Barcelona! I should stop myself before it's too late!_

_I slip out the golden ring from my finger and clasp it tightly in my hand, blocking those thoughts._

_Slowly, I regain my wits._

_It's time I stopped complaining._

_I also get to spend a great deal of time at the gym with Viktor in Yurio's company. In the past the two of them, while not strictly training together, still used to stumble upon each other there all the time._

_Now, the three of us are inseparable there. Yurio is gloating over the fact that Viktor is actually training this year, instead of waltzing in the gym from time to time with Makkachin and criticizing us, while replying to fan messages on Twitter or even enjoying some katsudon!_

_As for me, I am still stunned by the fact that Viktor somehow manages to look as incredible as ever after a murderous training. When even the overly ambitious Yurio slumps helplessly on a mat, breathing hard and covered in sweat, Viktor simply gives one of his special tired smiles and aims for the showers._

_These smiles get me every time._

_The way they reach his captivating sky blue eyes, bathing them in a melancholic half-light, conveying mysterious emotions I have never seen reflected there before…_

_Some days I can swear his eyes are struggling to store away the pain of an old heartbreak, others I'm convinced that they're concealing the hunger for something, he will never be able to obtain. But most times I'm left clueless and flustered…_

_The Viktor, hiding behind or, more accurately, revealing himself only in these smiles, is one I'm not acquainted with._

_The fact beguiles me as much as it scares the shit out of me._

_I have watched Viktor skate and give press conferences millions of times. I have tons of photos of him, stored on my laptop. I own a collection of posters and magazines about him._

_I went through fire and water with him as my coach, defying all odds and becoming an actual champion._

_And I still had to fly to Saint Petersburg to catch a glimpse of something hidden, I may never truly uncover. Something, he may never trust me enough to reveal._

_Worst of all, I fear I've gotten addicted to these smiles. They make me lose all sense. My heart stops, my mouth dries, my body turns to jelly. And all I can do is collapse on a mat next to the other Yuri. In case I've been the first Yuri to do so (which is the usual case scenario), I lie utterly exhausted, eyes fixed on Viktor, desperate not to miss the smile, which will undo me completely…_

_Oh, I've just come up with a name for the effect, this smile has on me – Agape overload!_

_Eeehh, wait, what am I writing?! Not Agape, how do I describe this? It's more of just… just Viktor overload?!_

_Argh, as you see, I'm still struggling to sort through my feelings for Viktor._

_Once he told me he would be whatever I wanted him to be._

_I panicked and asked him to be just Viktor._

_That he still seems to be "just Viktor" to me speaks volumes about my immaturity._

_First my interpretation of Eros as being a seductive portion of katsudon. Second the "just Viktor" mess._

_But you've really got to hand it to katsudon – it successfully seduced both Viktor and Yurio. Oh, how I miss katsudon right now… The Japanese restaurants here suck!_

_If you haven't realized it yet, I've intentionally gotten off topic because I'm a stupid immature coward, afraid of his own feelings._

_For the one and only Viktor Nikiforov, who's somewhere out there in the middle of the night, in the city, the whole population of which worships him._

_Whoever you are with Viktor, know, that they'll never look up to you the way I do._

_Cherish you as I do._

_You told me you'd always keep me close to you, but now it's you, who is away._

_Or did this mean as little to you as Barcelona did?_

_I sigh and cover my face with my hands._

_Come hell or high water, I will be here, waiting for you. Just, please, don't make me wait too long._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Hello! My name is Yuri. I very... (relatively accurate translation)


	3. The Past Meets the Present

_ Saint Petersburg, more than a month ago _

_“YUURI! Why aren’t you picking up your phone? Are you alright? You promised to be here more than two weeks ago! I swear it, I’m boarding the first plane to Japan, unless you give me a decent answer by the end of the day!”_

_“P.S. Including the time and date of your flight to St. Petersburg.”_

Viktor Nikiforov was staring at the messages he had sent Yuuri Katsuki per every existing social network early in the morning.

There was no response. He wasn’t even online.

Viktor had also written to Yuuri’s sister that day. With the same success.

Minako had at least told him a week ago that he’d gone on a trip to visit his grandparents.

 _Yuuri has never mentioned anything about them. Why the hell would he visit them right now?! Or is Minako just covering for him?_  
_Covering what?_  
_Why is he ignoring me?_  
_Or am I too paranoid and obsessive?  
_ _Damn it, he promised! He promised he would be here weeks ago! We would have had time to… talk about things. Now it’s time to start training, after which no distractions are allowed!_

“Viktor!” Yakov’s deep baritone sounded. “Stop scowling and get rid of that cell phone! On the rink, you either give yourself away to the fullest or don’t bother competing at all! Every distraction means points less, and less than a point can cost you the victory!”

“I never lose, Yakov.”

Viktor threw the phone in the air. It crashed in one of the viewers’ benches around the rink. He glided forward on the ice in a determined manner, executing his signature quadruple flip.

 

_ Meanwhile in Hasetsu, Japan… _

Hiroko and Toshiya Katsuki were sitting in front of their son, Yuuri, with worried expressions on their faces.

Yuuri himself was unnerved by the whole situation because his parents had summoned him to talk about a very important matter.

The only other time they had ever done this was after his 18th birthday, when he had hosted a big party at the onsen. Celestino had just agreed to be his coach and Yuuri had been so elated and therefore gotten so drunk that he had made all his guests invite as many people as possible, and whole Hasetsu had ended up partying at the onsen.  

Save for Yuuri’s parents, who had been deliberately sent away to a nearby town to visit some friends of theirs, in order not to spoil their son’s party.

When they had returned on the following day, they had found the onsen devastated with hungover people, lying everywhere, Yuuri among them.

He had sworn never to get drunk again. And to his utter horror, broken the promise.

So, naturally, noting the seriousness on his parents’ faces, Yuuri wondered what he could have done this time.

His father was the one to break the heavy silence.

“My son, the reason why we wanted to talk to you is your relationship with Viktor Nikiforov.”

Yuuri was mortified. He shifted nervously in his chair, looking at anything, but his parents.

“Your sister told us that you’ve gotten engaged in Barcelona.”

A strong urge to bolt out of the room formed in the young man’s mind. But neither could he trust his legs to carry him, nor would that prevent his parents from broaching the subject later.

“Don’t get us wrong, we don’t want to mess in your personal life,” his mother chimed in, recognizing the distress, written on her son’s already crimson face.

_This is exactly what you are doing right now!!_

“We suspected something was going on between Viktor and you ever since that kiss at the Cup of China, so Mari’s announcement didn’t catch us off-guard,” Toshiya said amusedly.

“We were delighted to hear the news,” Hiroko Katsuki supplied with a warm smile.

“Yes, so… When the two of you came back after the Grand Prix Final to prepare for the Four Continents Championships, we decided not to bother you with any questions about your future plans. You were getting on well and, besides, after all the guests around Viktor’s birthday, your stay in Canada for Jean-Jacques’ wedding you, Yuuri, needed your peace to keep fit for the competition.”

Yuuri had somewhat gathered his wits during his father’s long explanation, but a nasty feeling that this was just the calm before the storm did not leave him.

“However, after the Four Continents Championships and the Asian Winter Games that followed we sensed tension growing between the two of you. Neither of you came to us to for advice. Or to discuss a future wedding…”

 _Eeeh?! W-wedding?!_ Yuuri felt as though he was hit by a truck and left barely alive.

“So we took matters into our hands and spoke to Viktor.”

His mother’s words had the same impact a shock with a defibrillator would have had on the 24-year-old, had he indeed been the victim of a car crash and brought straight to a hospital.

“You did what?!”  

“Our duty as parents,” Toshiya stated calmly. “Viktor was very open about everything. He shared that the two of you needed more time to get to know each other and a wedding was unlikely to happen soon. He told us he would invite you to live together with him in St. Petersburg after the World Championships so that you could get a taste of sharing a living space only by yourselves. And, of course, so that he could train for the upcoming season with his Russian coach.”

Yuuri was balancing on a thin wedge between shock, anger and hurt, somehow managing not to be consumed by either, but nonetheless being tormented by all.

His head was blank. To him was simply unfathomable how Viktor could just talk to his parents about the so-called engagement, after never having mentioned it in front of Yuuri himself since the GP Final. And he had even brought up a wedding?!

For nearly 4 months Yuuri had been acting as though Barcelona never happened, often struggling hard to do so. How could Viktor do such a thing after all this time? Play with his personal life like that?

These thoughts had started whirling in the part of Yuuri, which was possessed by anger. When the shock and hurt mingled with them and threatened to overwhelm him, his already automatized instinct of blocking all thoughts about Barcelona kicked in to save him from going crazy.

Meanwhile, failing to note the sickly color, the skater’s face had gained, and the turmoil, hiding behind the currently clouded chestnut eyes, Yuuri’s parents continued the emotional onslaught.

“What worries us is that you’ve stayed here for nearly a month, growing more and more nervous, instead of flying to Saint Petersburg and being with your fianceé. And don’t think we haven’t also noticed that you’ve started gaining weight again,” Hiroko stated with a frown.

“You’ve been devouring mountains of katsudon and barely skated or exercised!” Toshiya admonished.

It was beyond Yuuri to keep reining his emotions. Hot tears welled in his eyes and started spilling down his cheeks.

His parents were right.

Out of uncertainty and fear, he had fallen in a depression again, purposefully isolating himself and eating all the food he caught sight of, in order not to think either about the past or about the future.

Yuuri felt disgusted with himself. Shame and self-loathing, anger and pain overtook him, and he let them all pour out of him, sobbing and shaking convulsively.

His parents, stunned by Yuuri’s sudden break-down, crouched next to his chair, consoling him as best as they could.

“Yuuri-chan, we’re so sorry, we didn’t mean to upset you, we only wanted to help…” Hiroko chanted continuously, rubbing his back gently.

His father added compassionately:

“Yes, we just couldn’t stand watching you become more and more miserable. And today after Mari received messages from Viktor that he’ll come here unless you talk to him...”

Yuuri jumped in his chair.

“V-Viktor is coming?!”

“Not if you talk to him. He’s worried, he hasn’t heard from you for more than a week and wants to know when you’re flying to Saint Petersburg.”

Yuuri cursed himself inwardly. He had deliberately not re-charged his phone, depressive as he had become, and buried himself in his room, going out only at mealtimes for the past week.

What he had accomplished this way, was nearly ruining his good shape and getting his parents and Viktor worried.

_What will Viktor say, when I tell him why I have neither kept in touch with him nor kept my promise? How will he react, if I land in Russia in a day or two, fat and depressed?_

Yuuri buried his face in his hands.

“Look, son. There’s no need to take everything so emotionally. Just go to Saint Petersburg and see how things will unfold. You’ll regret it your entire life if you don’t give it a try. We all know how important Viktor has always been for you.”

Out of a sudden, Yuuri straightened up. He met his father’s eyes.

“He is everything to me. I’m checking the flights to Saint Petersburg right now.”

The young man strode purposefully towards his room.

His parents exchanged surprised, but relieved looks.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

_I’m a ball of nerves._

_It’s already less than 30 minutes before I land at Pulkovo Airport, Saint Petersburg. And before I see Viktor again._

_I didn’t tell him a thing about the depression. After I found out that Minako had lied to him… I just stuck to her story, coming up with the ridiculous explanation that my grandparents live on the island of Kami-shima, where the signal is very faint, and I couldn’t contact anyone._

_Lies. All of it._

_I lied to Viktor._

_I still can’t believe what I did._

_I would never have had the guts to do it, had I been talking on the phone with him. For better or worse, his cell phone was broken, so I wrote him… Lies._

_His response was curt. “I’ll be waiting for you.”_

_Nothing more._

_He suspects that I lied. I know it._

_Even if he doesn’t (which is highly unlikely), he has every right to be angry with me._

_For a week I didn’t respond to either calls or messages, and for nearly three I avoided him as much as possible._

_Missing calls on purpose. Or picking up and excusing myself with something shortly afterward._

_What have I done?!?!_

_I fill my mouth with several chewing gums and bite at them nervously. I barely managed to unwrap them because my hands are trembling._

_My stomach begins to hurt._

_I haven’t eaten anything for three days in a desperate attempt to lose the weight I gained._   _I’ve exercised and skated and then exercised again._

_Despite having serious doubts about it, I hope Viktor won’t notice any change…_

_20 minutes remaining already._

_I struggle not to think about anything and nonetheless end up reminiscing the worst part of 2017 so far._

_A Skype call from Phichit was all that was necessary for my relations with Viktor to take a turn for the worse days before the World Championships at the end of March._

_I remember walking blindly, headphones on, the entire time prior to my turn to perform my short program. Viktor, having no idea how to handle the situation or no clue there was a situation to handle at all, was watching the others skate. He came to me eventually. I can’t even recall everything he said… “You will win the gold, Yuuri, it’s as good as set in stone, none of the others did exceptionally well,” or something of the sort._

_What I did, was land badly multiple times and score 95 points only by some miracle._ _This was my second-worst Eros performance since the beginning of the season._

_While I was slightly relieved, because the jury had been generous, Viktor was openly disappointed. Which, for Viktor Nikiforov, means that he hid his disappointment very poorly. He kept lecturing me on my strengths and weaknesses, stressing on how to avoid my most common mistakes every waking minute until I simply went mental minutes before my free skate on the following day. We had the biggest falling out ever… Needless to say, my performance suffered because of it._

_I remember leaving the rink with no Viktor, waiting for me. Sitting on a bench anxiously awaiting my score all alone. Then watching Yurio skate on painkillers because of his still unrecovered stretched tendron, finish his program nevertheless, collapse in tears at the end and be carried out of the rink on a stretch._

_I remember winning the bronze, despite feeling like an utter failure. Had JJ not ended his season early, because of his marriage and subsequent honeymoon, and Otabek not made a critical mistake in his free skate, I would have stood no chance._

_Afterwards, I recollect Yuri Plisetsky limping towards the podium to receive his gold medal, deathly pale, scowling, tears of anger and pain spilling down his cheeks. And Christophe Giacometti, who had regained his motivation after hearing Viktor’s decision to return to active skating, also frowning, while being awarded the silver, because an injured 16-year-old beat his score by 0,01 point._

_And now comes the worst part of it all – Viktor appearing out of nowhere and watching me from a distance with palpable anger in his eyes. Then disappearing again with Christophe in his embrace._

_I skipped the banquet that followed. And decided to check up on Yurio._

_A terrible mistake on my part. He shouted at me, calling me a crybaby and a moron for screwing up due to a fight with my beloved Viktor and shut his door in my face._

_Meanwhile, indecent photos of “my beloved Viktor” and Christophe had flooded Instagram._

_I was lying awake in my bed, unable to fall asleep when a drunk Viktor stormed in my room, slumped on top of me and made me promise to move in with him in Saint Petersburg in no more than a week._

_I get off the plane, thinking that my falling into a depression after all this might be somewhat justified._

_And yet I suspect the main reason behind it was the struggle to get my head around moving to Saint Petersburg._

_A cold rush of fear engulfs me and confirms my theory. Yes, a_ _part of me is certainly still terrified by the prospect._

_I recall Yuri Plisetsky shouting at me, Yakov Feltsman frowning at me, Georgi Popovich acting strange around me and Mila Babicheva inspecting me skeptically…_

_Oh, and that strict former ballerina, who helped develop Yurio’s choreography…_

_How am I going to fit in here?!?!_

_I am very much aware that it’s too late for second thoughts, but I can’t stop them from assaulting me._

_Then I spot my luggage on the carousel and grab it._

_My heartbeat quickens, as I walk into the arrivals section of the airport and search for Viktor nervously._

_A gasp escapes my throat when I spot him._

_Viktor Nikiforov._

_Dressed in tight black jeans, a black shirt, and a black leather jacket._

_He looks stunning in his all-black outfit. Of course he does, when hasn’t he looked stunning?_

_I realize that I’ve stopped in my tracks to gape at him._

_His expression reveals no emotion. I swallow._

_Just how angry is he with me?_

_He stretches his arms, beckoning me to come closer and I breathe in relief._

_But despite how much I want to bury myself in his embrace, I can’t make my legs obey me._

_As I stay helplessly nailed in my place, he starts moving towards me instead._

_I can feel my face beginning to burn and I know I’m flushing crimson._

_And then I see it in his eyes, the anger, thinly veiled behind his neutral expression._

_Having disposed of my chewing gum, in my anxiety I bite the only thing available – my lip._

_Viktor steps closer. I hold my breath._

_And then he suddenly transforms. The anger in his eyes vanishes, replaced by something, I can come up with only one word to describe._

_Eros._

_I stare at him wide-eyed, and in a second he wraps himself around me, his hands holding me close, too close, my body stiffens as his molds to it…_

_His head is nestled against my neck so that I can feel the coolness and softness of his silky hair and smell its intoxicating scent._

_I start fearing that I’ll faint in his arms. All my senses are on the overdrive, and I have no idea how long they can last under Viktor’s assault._

_As time passes and he makes no indication of ever letting me go, I start trembling slightly and shift antsily. To my utter shock, this provokes him to tighten his grip on me!_

_“I will always keep you close to me, Yuuri, so don’t ever try to run away from me,” he says in a low voice._

_It is a warning._

_The most beautiful warning I’ve ever heard in my life._

_In this moment, I realize just how much I’ve missed him the past weeks, how colorless everything had been without him, how meaningless life had seemed to be._

_How could I have not fallen into a depression without Viktor by my side? How did I even survive 24 years without him?!_

_In a split second, I start squeezing him as hard as he’s squeezing me._

_I keep repeating to myself what I’m too embarrassed to say out loud:_

_Never let me go, Viktor, please, never let me go._

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

Viktor Nikiforov leaned worriedly over Yuuri Katsuki’s sleeping form, which, huddled in a ball, was clinging desperately to a pillow, muttering something unintelligible.

However, he could swear he heard his name, so he deduced that Yuuri was only half-asleep and was aware of his presence

“Yes, Yuuri, it’s me, Viktor. Time to rise and shine, sleeping beauty.”

Yuuri was indeed beautiful, while asleep, Viktor had made that observation in Hasetsu nearly a year ago when he had sneaked in his room early in the morning as a protest to Yuuri’s staunch refusal to let him sleep there even once.

But currently, Yuuri Katsuki’s expression was not one of serenity.

Viktor heard his name, being pronounced more clearly and, to his astonishment, quite desperately.

No, Yuuri was not awake at all. He was dreaming.

Viktor frowned. Whatever the younger man was dreaming about, it included him and made the Japanese feel uneasy.

He laid his hand gently on Yuuri’s shoulder, leaned closer and called his name.

The young skater was startled awake.

“Viktor!” he squeaked, breathing hard, after he nearly collided with his Russian coach, who was looking at him with a discerning eye from an intimately close distance.

“Everything is alright, Yuuri, calm down,” he reassured, squeezing the younger man’s shoulder gently.

But Yuuri only seemed to get more anxious.

“A bad dream?” Viktor asked, not deeming necessary to retreat and give Yuuri space.

The Japanese looked away nervously.

“Uhm, it was nothing, I’m fine,” he mumbled, slightly flushing.  

_And now you are lying to me, Yuuri. You don’t truly believe I actually fell for it, do you? But you still prefer lying to sharing the bad dream I was part of with me._

Viktor straightened his face. Worry was replaced with neutrality. He got off the bed swiftly.

“I’ve brought you breakfast,” he gestured at the tray on Yuuri’s desk, before continuing matter-of-factly “I’ve already eaten. Hurry up, because you’ve overslept and we’re going to be late unless you do.”

He turned to leave.

“Viktor!” Yuuri exclaimed.

The Russian held in his tracks. He caught a somewhat desperate edge in the younger man’s voice, which was suspiciously resembling the tone, Yuuri had called his name in his sleep.

It made Viktor rotate automatically with maximum speed.

“Yes?” he inquired, slightly out of breath.

“Thank you.”

The Russian was perplexed.

“What for?”

“The breakfast,” Yuuri smiled tentatively.

Viktor shook his head with a smile of his own, a warm one, turning his eyes into azure skies, Yuuri could lose himself in.

“Anything for you, zvezda moya,” the handsome Russian replied with a slight bow of his head, which made his unruly silver bang slide over his left eye.

He winked cheerfully with his right one.

Before abruptly turning around and walking away.

 _What did I just say?! Just pray that at least he doesn’t look up zvezda moya on the Internet, Nikiforov! What happened with your renowned self-control?_  
_Ah, it’s common knowledge that it died a year ago.  
_ _Nonetheless, I should restrain myself better… Enough zvyozdy and sleeping beauties for the time being._

And then it hit him again.

Yuuri looking away from him, lying to him, not trusting him.

All light from Viktor’s eyes faded away, rendering them gloomy and lifeless.

Meanwhile, Yuuri was having breakfast with a smile on his face, glad that Viktor had exited fast enough not to notice his blush at being addressed with the Russian equivalent of “my star”.

It was the first time he had ever referred to him with an endearment (not counting “piggy”, of course).

In Yuuri’s book, the breakfast in bed and being called “zvezda moya” more than made up for the long hours he had spent the previous night, waiting for Viktor to return.

However, recalling the Russian’s behavior after Yuuri refused to talk about his dream made the young man frown.   

_But how could I just spill out that in my dream, a nearly perfect copy of my arrival in Saint Petersburg, I was clinging to him as though I was hanging on for dear life and wishing that he’d never let me go?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: all will be revealed in time, including the reasons behind Viktor's behavior. The questions are what will happen in the meantime, will his relationship with Yuuri be still salvageable and will both of them do what needs to be done, for their relationship to flourish.
> 
> P.S. So that there aren't any misunderstandings:  
> After the GPF in December 2016, Yuuri participated in the Four Continents Championships & the Asian Winter Games in February 2017 and the World Championships in March 2017 (I know that talking about March 2017 in past tense is weird).  
> JJ got married in January and ended his season early.


	4. Beware: Russian Training Methods

The devastating tones of Oizys’s story could make a heart of stone bleed. But could they make the countless walls, encircling an aching heart, crumble? For any observer of Yuri Plisetsky’s skating that morning, the answer would be negative.

_I hate the stupid music. I hate it! Oh, no, not again, how can I look fucking depressed, when I’m angry?! Oh, forget about this shit, concentrate on the incoming quadruple Lutz._

However, distracted by a heart-rendering violin solo, he nearly fell after the fourth rotation.

_NO! How could I mess up the landing?! Damn… I have no choice, if I am to make a decent performance, I must try to connect with the music… And I know the best way to do it._

Images started flashing before Yuri’s eyes, as he began executing a serpentine step sequence.

_A young blond man was sitting in a chair, displeasure written all over his face._

_“Papa, I learned how to skate backward! You must come and see me do it!”_ a child’s voice sounded excitedly.

_“I am too busy for such things, kid. Your grandfather takes you skating every time, doesn’t he? Show him instead.”_

Gritting his teeth, the young skater finished the serpentine’s last curve with a death drop sit spin with a twist, which ended up looking more like a jump of frustration turned into a sit spin due to lack of balance than like the intended fall in desperation.  

After having risen from the sitting position with a scratch spin, he executed a triple Axel, bursting with excess energy. Another memory was called forward.

_“Papa, look what I painted for you today!”_

_“Who taught you to paint like that? The painting is unrealistic, and the people look plain ridiculous. And, please, don’t tell me this is supposed to be me, you and your mother! We have never even lived together, why did you paint the three of us? You should have included your grandfather instead of me.”_

Yuri Plisetsky was aware that his attempts at feeling the devastating sadness Oizys was portraying had failed miserably, but was already so mad that he couldn’t care less.

_I will skate this my way, to hell with the depressed Greek goddess!_

He nailed a quadruple Salchow in combination with a triple toe loop. However, contrary to his wishes, a third memory replayed in his mind.  

_The young blonde man was replaced by an older one with greying dark hair and beard._

_“Dedushka, why is papa always angry at me? I love him, doesn’t he love me, too?”_

_“Of course he does, Yurochka, he’s just bad at showing it.”_

Angry tears welled in Yuri’s eyes, as he reached the final piece of his performance. He executed a donut spin, his body angled horizontally to the ice, one hand holding the blade of his right skate, then rose upwards in a half-Biellmann position for another spin.

He finished the combination with a change of foot and a sitting cannonball spin.

Unfortunately, he ended up spinning long seconds after the end of the music, due to the negative emotions, fuelling him and making him exert more energy than needed.

He rose to his feet, awaiting Viktor’s verdict.

“What you did was as further from figure skating as one can get on the ice. You skated like some wild animal gone out of control. Gone so mad, that it was rendered blind, deaf and was stripped of any gracefulness! I wish I could say a good word about the technical execution, but your Lutz was pitiful.”

Yuuri could feel his stomach tie in a knot. After the breakfast in bed, he had prepared for him, Viktor had grown unnaturally gloomy. At the rink he had instantly switched to what the Japanese had dubbed the “coach mode” – a recent behavioral development in Viktor, characterized by impeccable correction of mistakes, meting out of criticism or rare, collected praises and an overall worryingly dispassionate attitude. However, towards Yuri, he often seemed to act more in an “evil coach mode” manner. How could he scold him so harshly?

Meanwhile, Yuri’s anger reached its peak. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he stamped his foot, sending tiny ice particles in all directions.

“I just can’t do this! I can’t identify with this awful music, it’s the opposite of everything I stand for! Just swap our choreographies, it’s not like piggy over there is doing any better with the other stupid Greek goddess!”

Yuuri gulped.

_Yurio is right. Neither one of us is advancing much. I’d be proud of myself if I could skate properly on Eutychia’s theme, but I can’t summon the required confidence. I’m much closer to Oizys’ state of mind these days..._

But Viktor was having none of this.

“A would-be consecutive world champion should be able to skate on anything. If you cannot skate on the music I’ve picked for you, then you are simply not good enough.”     

An ominous silence fell over the ice rink.

Yuri was staring at Viktor with sheer contempt.

Yuuri wanted to say something to disperse the pressure but doubted there was anything to say that wouldn’t aggravate his Russian namesake more.

“Bullshit!” Yuri shouted out of a sudden. “You choose your music every year. Would you have become the world champion 5 consecutive years, had someone else done it for you?”

He turned towards Yuuri and continued, pointing a finger at Viktor:

“He’s playing both of us here! He dumped shitty music themes on last year’s medallists so that he can assure himself the gold!”

Viktor laughed, but the sound of it made Yuuri cringe. The usual mirth in the Russian’s laughter was gone, making it ring hollowly and even slightly mockingly.

“No one is stopping you from composing your own short program, Yurio. You just can’t do it, can you?”

Yuri pursed his lips and looked away.

“Right. As for your second allegation – Viktor Nikiforov doesn’t sabotage his adversaries, he helps them so that he has any worthy competition during the season. It’d be too boring otherwise, won’t you agree?”

“We’ll see about that, because I’m done here. Good luck with teaching a katsudon how to perform quad Salchows for the second season in a row.”

As Yuri turned to leave, Viktor’s eyes started blazing. With anger?

Yuuri was perplexed. Was it because he had failed to teach Yurio properly? Or was it because the Russian Yuri had offended his teaching abilities by pointing out Yuuri’s still standing problems with executing some jumps? Or was it simply because he had offended Yuuri? No, that couldn’t be, plus it wasn’t the first time Yurio had offended him. It couldn’t even be considered an insult, due to the high amount of truth it contained.

Having no idea what to think, Yuuri said on impulse “Stop!” to prevent both Yurio from leaving, and Viktor from uttering something he would come to regret.

Immediately, two displeased pairs of eyes bored into him.

Yuuri cleared his throat nervously, rapidly thinking out a plan for action.

“I have an idea – if it doesn’t work, you can start practicing a new short program with Yakov, but if it does, you are continuing with Oizys!”

“Just spill it out, Katsudon,” Yuri Plisetsky grunted skeptically. Viktor was watching with a raised eyebrow and an equal portion of skepticism.

“Have you tried focusing on your worst memories? This might make you feel…”

Yuri cut in furiously.

“Do I look like an idiot to you?! Of course I have, but unlike you, bad memories don’t make me shed tears like a baby, they make me…”

“Act like a mad animal?” Viktor offered. “You really should look for a psychologist, if you ask me.”

“Shut up and listen, both of you!” Yuuri shouted. The other skaters looked at him again, this time with slightly shocked expressions. Yuuri Katsuki raising his tone was a rarity. The Japanese continued in a calmer manner:

“What I’m suggesting is that Yuri should find his Agape again and then emerge himself in his worst memories. In the meantime, I’ll be skating his short program.”

Viktor and the other Yuri cast him incredulous glances.

“Come on, we all know I am the one in this room, who can feel Oizys’ theme the most deeply. I might mess up the jumps, but the emotions will be there to see. And even if they aren’t and the trick with the bad memories doesn’t work either, then seeing my poor execution of the Lutz might actually make you want to cry, Yurio.”

Viktor frowned. _Yuuri! We’ve been working on your self-esteem for so long, how can you degrade yourself like that?_

A crooked smile appeared on Russian Yuri’s lips.

“Fine, Katsudon. If you are so set on embarrassing yourself, be my guest.”

“First, I want to see your Agape.”

It was Yurio’s turn to frown. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. _For you, dedushka!_

As he opened them, they had already turned into a portal to innocence and undiluted love.

Yuuri barely managed to restrain a gasp at his transformation. He would never get used to witnessing it, that he knew that for sure.

He moved to the middle of the rink, waiting for the music to start.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

Yuuri Katsuki was gliding on the ice like a lone teardrop, twisting and turning into the vicious wind, which was cruelly toying with it minutes before it would finally fall to the ground and to its death.

Mesmerized, Viktor couldn’t tear his eyes off his student. 

_Ah, Yuuri, I can swear I haven’t seen a more beautiful and simultaneously saddening sight than you right now! I almost failed to notice the uncertainty in your triple instead of quadruple Lutz, it simply didn’t matter! But, why my Yuuri, why, where are these emotions coming from? I know that moving to Saint Petersburg was a difficult change for you, but… Ah, you are breaking my heart with this performance…_

Viktor blinked away a tear and made himself peek at the other Yuri. He was staring at his Japanese namesake with an odd expression. But there was one emotion, Viktor could discern for sure. Hurt.

What was happening to Yuri was the following: he was watching the Japanese Yuuri skate, while simultaneously traveling back in time to Sheremetyevo International Airport, Moscow from about 9 years ago.

_“Papa, you can’t go! Please!”_

_“We have discussed it a million times already, Yuri. I won a prestigious scholarship, this is the chance of a lifetime, I am not wasting it to stay in a cramped apartment in Moscow and occupy some mediocre post in some mediocre third-world company.”_

_“But…”_

_“Stop sniveling and act like a man! Face the facts already! I am moving to New York and nobody, least of all you, can stop me. Frankly, why you are even trying is beyond me!” the blond man huffed with exasperation._

_“I love you, papa.”_

_“You shouldn’t. Love your mother and grandfather. They’re the ones, taking care of you. I’m simply doing my duty to support you financially. You don’t owe me a thing for that. Now, it’s time to say goodbye.”_

_“Papa, wait! When will I see you again?”_

_“If both of us have any luck – not anytime soon.”_

The memory left Yuri shaken. A devastating old wound of his was being mercilessly pried open, and he felt stuck all alone in its wreckage. He tried to focus his full attention on Yuuri’s performance to avoid delving into his emotions. However, this only intensified them.

Until Yuuri fell while executing a quadruple Salchow. He spent the time meant for a following triple toe loop getting up.

But he didn’t give up.

Despite the obvious pain in the back, torturing him after the fall, he continued with an improvised combination spin, the main purpose behind which was to replace Yurio’s half-Biellmann spin he lacked the flexibility to perform. 

He stopped spinning at the precise time the theme ended.

He rose slowly, red-cheeked and out-of-breath, not daring to meet either of his fellow skaters’ eyes after his shameful Salchow, disappointing Lutz and skipped toe loop.

“Yuuri! Your performance was…” Viktor started, audibly moved, before Yuri shouted out:

“Disgusting! Terrible! Awful!”

There were tears in his eyes and his voice was shaky. He propelled himself forward on the ice and performed four quadruple Salchows, while skating freely across the rink.

He returned, panting, only to continue screaming.

“Quadruple fucking Salchow, stupid pig! When will you learn that bloody jump?!”

“Plisetsky,” Viktor started with a threatening edge in his tone, but met Yuuri’s still cripplingly sad eyes and was rendered speechless.

“Yuri, did it work? Are you going to continue working on Oizys?”

“Maybe it would have, had you not screwed the jumps! Curse you, you executed only 1 out of 4 jumps properly and you still skated my short program light years better than I did!”

“At least you’ve finally realized that technical prowess brings you nothing, if you are a soulless performer,” Viktor stated matter-of-factly.

“Soulless? You are the soulless person here, Viktor! You only care about yourself! Yakov, Mila and Georgi will confirm it, you don’t give a damn about anybody or anything else! I have no idea how you manage to act out your performances so convincingly, but all the emotions you show on the rink don’t exist in reality. And right now I am freaking mad again, but that’s still better than having a blank slate for a face like you do all the time!”  

Yuuri sighed. He was convinced that his suggestion had worked, maybe even a tad too well, because Yuri was obviously upset, much more so than intended. Unfortunately, he was trying (and failing) to hide it with an uncontrolled anger outburst, in which, at least according to Yuuri, he had started uttering things he did not even mean.

From Yuuri’s point of view, Viktor was an emotionally reserved person, who only wore his heart on his sleeve, while skating. And for his performances to be so emotionally charged what a heart he had to have! On the ice deception was not possible and Viktor revealed a stunning emotional depth. Why was he so adamant at concealing it in everyday life? And partially even on the ice, because Yuuri could swear he had never seen him express the mysterious emotions behind his special edition of smiles before. Or at least not to their breathtaking full extent, even during his performance on the aria “Stay Close to Me”.

While Yuuri was mentally assessing Viktor’s state of mind, the subject of his thoughts entered another heated argument with Yurio. Here was something Yuuri couldn’t grasp as well – why wouldn’t Viktor cut Russian Yuri some slack, given how perturbed he was, instead of fighting fire with fire?

“Cut this psychologist crap, Nikiforov! For your information, I’ve been attending anger management therapies my entire life. Skating is my way to burn off all the unwanted emotions! Nothing can fuel you better than a fistful of anger, of course, except when you’re supposed to play depressed!”

“But you did a great a job with Agape, I am sure you can pull Oizys off just as well,” Yuuri said reassuringly.

“Shut up, Katsudon, I don’t want your praise, and it’s not like I’ve deserved any. If that’ll make you happy, I’m not done with the depressed goddess yet. Yuri Plisetsky never gives up. I’m not going back on my principles because of a stupid sad song.”

“Too bad we had to waste half an hour for you to decide this,” Viktor admonished, looking at his wristwatch. “There’s no time left for you to give your short program another go, Yakov will be here any moment now.”

He looked apologetically over to Yuuri . “And neither do you, I am sorry, Yuuri. Ah, wait just a minute, we might be able to schedule an additional training session…”

Viktor started skimming enthusiastically through his calendar on his smartwatch, but his expression darkened out of a sudden. “Or not. I totally forgot about the media events, scheduled for this weekend. I even had to reschedule my training sessions with Yakov because of them… Which means that we might not have time for additional training next week either.”

Suddenly, he cast Yuri a disapproving glance.

“And which also means that you should get your shit together and stop losing our time! We are training for the Grand Prix Final here, not for a theatre play, Yurio. Start behaving like a grown-up!”

The 16-year-old was looking away with flushed cheeks.

Feeling sorry for him, given that he had just been scolded for the millionth time, Yuuri opted for softening the blow from Viktor’s words: “It’s OK, Yuri, just…”

“No, it’s not okay, Yuuri! We haven’t even started composing your free skate yet. Yurio here might have all the time in the world, but not everybody is as fortunate as him, to get to attend training sessions with both me, and Yakov.”

“Look, I’m sorry, alright? It’s not like I did it on purpose! And… I guess you two can come by at my training sessions with Yakov from time to time. The old man might get grumpy, but we can get him to see Yuuri’s short program and give some advice. And I won’t object at all to seeing you, Viktor, skate your two programs! Nobody except for Yakov has even glimpsed them! And, who knows, even you might use the advice of the first skater ever to have won the ISU GPF at 15.”

Yuri’s expression had turned from ashamed to excited. Viktor’s, however, was disturbingly blank again.

“You are getting way ahead of yourself, boy, if you think I would ever need advice from you on anything. Neither does Yuuri Katsuki need Yakov’s advice, because he has a professional coach already.”

Yuri Plisetsky’s face flushed a brighter red, but this time out of anger.

“You are an asshole, Viktor, I don’t know why I even try to be nice to you! Does this also mean that you won’t show us your choreography?! It’s not fair, you know, we have to see at least your short program!”

“You will get to see my choreography when everybody else gets to see it. Don’t get so cheeky just because you were lucky enough to win the Grand Prix Final once!”

“Are you two finished, because the lesson is about to start!” Yakov, who was in the process of putting on a pair of skates, shouted out from a bench.

“Yes, you two get out of here, it’s time for my lesson!” Yuri exclaimed.

“What? Seriously, you are out of your mind, kid. I have a scheduled lesson with Yakov right now like every single day for more than a month already!”

“Curse you, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about it! You promised! I’m having a lesson with Yakov now and you are taking mine later today, so that I can go to the premiere of “Fast and Furious”!”

“Don’t make me laugh. That movie had its premiere around the very beginning of this century. The sloppy remakes of a crappy movie don’t classify as a premiere. As for switching trainings – I have no memory of promising you anything and neither does my smartwatch,” Viktor explained, shoving the device with his schedule for the day in Yurio’s face. “So it is you, who will get out of here.”

“Smartwatch you say?!! Why don’t you rename it to dumbwatch, it’s exactly as forgetful as its owner!  I don’t care that you’ve forgotten about your promise before you’ve had the chance to edit your schedule! A promise is a promise!”

“Since I haven’t altered my schedule, then I can’t have meant it for real in the first place,” Viktor shrugged. “Besides, I already have plans for the evening. Go to your so-called premiere some other day.”

“I can’t go to the premiere another day! It will no longer be a premiere! You can’t just go around making promises you don’t intend to fulfill! Tell him, Yakov! You heard him promise!”

“I don’t really care which one of you is first, so long as you stop bickering right now and reach a decision, because you’re losing your own time for training,” the older man uttered, entering the rink.

“Excellent point, Yakov. I’ve lost enough of my time already on you, Yuri Plisetsky. Only God knows why I’ve spent so much effort on a hopeless case like you! In my book, so far this season you are on the bottom list in both technical merit and presentation of the choreography. So, stop crying like a toddler, who’s dropped his lollipop, save what dignity you’ve left and leave immediately!”

Casting Viktor a fierce glare Yurio retreated without a word.

Yuuri, who had stood shell-shocked throughout the entire fight, came to his senses.

“How can you talk to him like that, Viktor?”

“He gets more motivated, when people talk down to him. And it’s not like he hasn’t earned it, anyway. At least a part of it.”

Yuuri was horrified.

“You are manipulating him?! You’ve hurt his feelings! Don’t you realize this?! How could you do this?”

Viktor frowned.

“These are the costs of winning. The Russian training methods are harsh, but they always pay off. That I’ve been attempting a milder approach with you doesn’t mean I have to do the same with him. I am sure Yakov doesn’t.”

Costs of winning. Russian training methods. Milder approach.

The words rang hollow in Yuuri’s head, as hollow as Viktor looked in that moment. There was no life in his eyes, only the oppressive shallow greyness, their sky blue color had turned into.

“No, Viktor, they don’t. How can Yuri calm down and feel the music, when you keep insulting him on purpose? I’m going after him,” the Japanese stated and turned to leave.

“Yuuri…” Viktor started with a completely changed, milder tone, only to be cut off immediately.

“Now is not the time for this. I’m leaving you to benefit from your coach’s special training methods.”

Yuuri escaped the rink, hurt much more by the coldness of his own words, than by anything Viktor had said or done.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

_Now that you know how Viktor behaved that day, what would you say? And don’t tell me that I’m being too paranoid because I can swear he’s not acting like himself at all!_

_Oh… It just dawned on me – actually, I have little to no idea how Viktor usually acts during training for an upcoming season, he’s actively taking part in. Most of the time in Hasetsu he was laid-back and carefree, but was it simply because he had nothing to lose?_

_Just how many different Viktors are hiding behind that pale, angular, lovely face of his?!_

_Can it be just the stress of being an active skater with millions of obsessive fans worldwide and the coach of a not very promising Japanese Katsudon talking?_

_But Viktor has always been so confident in himself…_

_What if all this has got to do with Yakov somehow? What was that biting remark regarding Russian training methods all about?! Yurio is also on edge… From what I’ve seen, Georgi isn’t in high spirits either. And Yakov looks scarier than ever! Just what kind of training does he make his poor students endure?!_

_I’ll get to the bottom of this! I will…_

_No, I won’t do anything. I’m getting way ahead of myself._

_I am shutting up before I start sounding too ridiculous._

_If you wonder why I don’t just ask Viktor whether he’s alright, instead of coming up with crazy theories about evil Russian coaches, the answer is that it’ll be pointless. I did ask one morning, after he was gone the better half of the night and was apparently exhausted to death. What he did in return was disarm me with an impossibly charming smile, ruffle my hair and make me promise never to cloud my head with worries about him because it was the coach’s job to worry about his student, not the other way around._

_Was I speaking to anyone else, I wouldn’t have dropped the subject without a fight, but the effect Viktor has on me… is disturbing, to say the least. What’s the most worrisome now, though, is his inexplicable behavior._

_He is an endless riddle I simply cannot solve. He seems to be deliberately making this impossible for me by not giving out any clues._

_Most of the time he gives the impression he is so high above everything and everyone that nothing can even touch him… Then how do I somehow get the feeling he is more like… A fragile flower, a shy mimosa, dealing with emotional struggles somewhere deep down and far away from prying eyes?_

_I know I’m getting way too light-headed and romantic late at night, but, seriously, I can swear that the place, where he gets all the emotions he presents on the ice from, must be exactly this one._

_Unfortunately, the closer I get to uncovering it, the more shielded it becomes. As though Viktor has a secret mechanism, which activates soon after you’ve gone too close to his sensitive spot. A mechanism, which makes him act in a suitable way to hide away his feelings. The triggered behavior can be very contradictory in different situations, but the result is the same – to put distance between Viktor and everybody else._

_Reading out loud what I’ve just written, I sincerely hope I’m not going mad._

_But in case my observations truly make sense, and I survive this season, by its end, I might earn myself an honorary bachelor’s degree in psychology with this diary._

_Oh, God, Viktor’s talking all the time about how I’m going to win the GPF, and I’m sitting here just wishing to survive it…_

_I should get a grip, I know, I know, I’m trying, I truly am, but it’s so hard…_

_Prior to Saint Petersburg, I could act like Barcelona never happened because Viktor was still as wonderful and sweet as ever. Even in March, after the first serious conflicts between us arouse, I dare say everything was better… But now…_

_Now, ever since we started practicing for the new season, Viktor seems to regard me as nothing more than his student. On the ice, especially when it’s only the two of us, he’s very collected and… professional. Praises me, when I’m doing good (by some miracle). Offers constructive criticism, when I don’t level up to his expectations (the usual case)._

_When there’s no Yurio to torture with “Russian training methods”, he does his job as a coach so perfectly, that the logical part of me manages to subdue my heart’s protests that on the way to Saint Petersburg Viktor and I lost a vital part of who we were together._

_But right now, when it’s almost 12 p.m. and all level-headedness has evaporated from me during this day’s long hours of skating and physical exercises, an excruciating feeling of loneliness possesses me, and hot tears start spilling over this sheet of paper._

_What happened to us, Viktor?_

_Why do I feel as if I am in Detroit again, fighting on my own?_

_I desperately try to restrain my sobs… God, I have to stop, I have to, I’m 24 years old, I can’t burst into tears just like that!!_

_It’s not just like that! I can’t keep on living with some shadow of the Viktor I adored for a whole season! Am I to blame for the change?!_

_No, Yuuri, stop thinking about this, control yourself…_

_I struggle to contain my emotions, to store them away together with all the memories of Viktor’s smiling eyes, watching me dreamily, his arms, holding me tight, his soft lips, pressed against..._

_Out of the blue, I come up with what Yurio would say to me now, were he in the room, and I am saved from the haunting memories._

_“Stop crying like a pig, about to be slaughtered, Katsudon!” sounds angrily in my head._

_I laugh shakily and wipe away my tears._

_Oh, Yurio, thank you so much! Next time we visit your favorite restaurant, the pirozhki are on me._

_As you can see, the Russian Yuri’s rudeness has started amusing me of late. This is just the way he is, there’s no reason for me to be intimidated by it.  What’s more, sometimes his nasty remarks reveal far more truth than anyone else would dare to share with you. It is up to you to take them with dignity._

_All in all, I’ve grown to enjoy Yurio’s company, especially during physical training. He’s a great motivator. I suspect his fierceness pushes even Viktor to exercise harder._

_At least when the three of us are at the gym the pressure between us evaporates. We act like… competitive friends?_

_But while I can take mean jokes on my behalf by Yurio, I can’t help being slightly embarrassed or even hurt by Viktor’s._

_He never overdoes it, though. He is harsher with Yurio._

_Wait just a minute, maybe he just thinks that I’m too weak to handle them! He told me once he didn’t think I was weak, but who knows, if he meant it for real! Why would he undertake a milder approach towards my training otherwise?!_

_I sigh deeply. I won’t mull over what I think Viktor thinks about me. I doubt I can survive another emotional outburst for the night._

_Contrary to my wishes, I remember how cold my last response was before I left to chase after Yurio that day. And I shudder. At the way I said those words. As though it wasn’t Viktor I was talking to, but someone I couldn’t stand and deliberately wanted to hurt._

_How could I perceive Viktor like this?! And since when do I deliberately want to hurt anybody?!_

_I am not such a person!_

_I don’t know what on Earth is happening to me._

_I don’t know what on Earth is happening to him or whether something is happening at all and this isn’t just the way he is in the cursed Saint Petersburg._

_I don’t know anything anymore._

_And my heart is clenched._

_Because all my thoughts and feelings might be in complete disarray, but deep inside there’s one thing I do know – that this season’s Viktor being my coach and my friend is not enough._

_I cannot formally classify our relationship from last season much differently, I can only say it was much more._

_It was everything._

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

The following day Yuri Plisetsky stayed at the rink after his lesson with Yakov to skate for a while with Yuuri and Viktor as usual. While his short program performance had improved slightly the few days after he nearly gave up on Viktor’s choreography, it still left much to be desired.

 _At least my technical execution has improved, if nothing else,_ he was thinking, while performing the sit spin at the very end of the program.

As the music stopped and he was about to rise from his sitting position, he was surprised to hear someone applauding him.

_What the hell?! I didn’t skate nearly good enough to be applauded! If this is Viktor, mocking my performance, I'm not answering for the consequences…_

Yuri rotated swiftly in the applause’s direction and froze.

His grandfather was standing beside the rink’s barrier with a warm smile on his face.

“Dedushka!” the young skater exclaimed on impulse, raced towards the old man and hugged him as best as he could from the inner side of the barrier.

“Yurochka!” the old man returned the greeting after Yuri eventually deemed fit to release him.

“But how…?” the teenager inquired, still wearing a childish grin, nobody else but his grandfather could provoke.

“You see, yesterday I arrive at work and my boss tells me that I’ve got the rest of the week off because Viktor Nikiforov agreed to… What was it? Sign posters, meet his daughter personally, this sort of thing. Later that day I receive plane tickets to Saint Petersburg from the very same Viktor Nikiforov. And here I am. But I’m warning all of you here, never buy me plane tickets again! My good old Lada would have made the journey without effort. And you, young man, should have called me before setting all this up!” Nikolai Plisetsky said, casting Viktor a slightly disproving glance. As he looked back at his grandson, his expression softened immediately and he added:

“Not that I complain, Yurochka, your friend Viktor made a great gesture, he just should have consulted me first.”

“Ah, dedushka, he’s not my friend, and he must have some ulterior motive here! Don’t think he’s so nice, he’s terrible, as a matter of fact, and don’t worry, I’m giving him the money for the tickets back. But why did you applaud my performance? Do you think it was any good? Since the beginning of the off-season…”

Yuri continued burying his grandfather under piles of information about how the preparation for the upcoming season was going, including various complaints about Viktor (some bordering on insults) and a couple about the Japanese katsudon (the fat black-haired man, standing next to Viktor), whom, he claimed, even if he wanted to insult, wouldn’t understand a word of it anyway.

He wasn’t too far from the truth because Yuuri struggled hard to grasp the meaning of what his Russian namesake was saying. Due to his beginner’s knowledge of Russian and the high speed of Yuri’s excited blabbering, he soon gave up and focused his attention on Viktor.

He had to confirm what he had come to suspect from what he had understood from the conversation.

“Does this comply with the Russian training methods?” he inquired with a small smile and a raised eyebrow.

An involuntary copy of Yuri Plisetsky’s childish grin illuminated Viktor’s face.

“Nah, this is an exception to the rules, applicable to underage skaters only. We have to make the children happy, after all.”

Yuuri shook his head, grinned in return and continued observing Yurio’s unnatural behavior with wonder. However, his musing over the surprising depth of love and joy, written all over his young friend and brought about by a simple visit of his grandfather, was soon interrupted.

A hand started slowly being sneaked around his waist.

His skin got covered in goosebumps in an instant.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath full of longing.

He let out a silent, almost undetectable moan, as Viktor fully wrapped his arm around his waist and grabbed its side possessively.           

Any form of physical contact with Viktor was scarce bordering to non-existent these days. Yuuri had fully grasped how much the Russian’s affection meant for him, only after it had nearly disappeared.

Therefore, that day he reveled in the precious stolen moment of closeness, wanting to remain locked in it forever.

A feeling that he was being observed threatened to make his cheeks flush, so he opened his eyes to find out whether his senses were right.

A pair of bright blue eyes met his. They were drinking him in, as though he were a blossoming oasis in a lifeless, murderous desert.

Yuuri held his gaze with awe, marveling at how alive Viktor’s face looked.

It took no longer than a second for the magic to turn to ash and dust.

“Viktor, Yuuri, come on, my grandfather has never seen us skating together!”

To the Japanese, Yurio’s voice sounded distant and unimportant. But not to his Russian coach, who released his waist and glided away from him with a composed expression, as if nothing had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lengthy chapter, this one. Partially because I wanted to have Yuuri's thoughts on the events written separately in his diary.
> 
> All in all, bits and pieces of why the relationship between Viktor and Yuuri is currently not working will be revealed gradually. Imagine the story as a puzzle, each chapter being a separate piece of it. Once all of them are brought together, the full picture will be there for all to see.
> 
> Meanwhile, we will get to the bottom of Yurio's story. Also expect major appearances from some other YOI characters and an original one.
> 
> P.S. A happy ending is planned, for our characters more than deserve it.


	5. Team Yuri^2’s Training Methods

_Hello there, my beautiful friends!_

_I’m in the most insane & labile mood ever! Guess why!_

_Ah, don’t be shy, I know you’re smart and will get it right! I bet you’ve found out already, you’re just too polite to say it._

_Alright then, I will – I am drunk._

_Well, slightly. Don’t imagine I’ve started doing whatever I did on that banquet after my Grand Prix Final of tears. I sincerely hope not to end up acting obscenely, or accidentally demolish Viktor’s apartment like I did the onsen on my 18 th birthday._

_Anyways, even if I get that drunk, it’s not like somebody’s here to see it – Viktor is out, gifting sweet words and smiles to his admirers on live TV. Some Russian talk-show, priding itself for the fact that it doesn’t air recorded and is totally genuine. Well, Viktor’s face looked somewhat genuine, I mean – even if he doesn’t feel like smiling, it doesn’t show, and he definitely looks better, when he smiles than when he keeps his face blank like he’s grown fond of doing. In fact, he looked so great that I had to switch off the TV after less than 5 minutes._

_I just can’t watch him smile and literally beam for the cameras when he doesn’t smile for me half as much._

_Oh, by the way – please, don’t think I’m that angsty all the time. I use this diary as a form of emotional outlet so that I can keep a clear head during training and don’t look like a Viktor-addicted lunatic beyond the confines of this bedroom._

_Also, it’s nice to imagine I’m talking to all of you, my dear imaginary friends, sharing problems, being understood…_

_What I wish to share today is what happened yesterday, and that is how excited Viktor was when I played the music, I’ve chosen for my free program._

_So excited that he continued telling me off for minutes, ending with a definite refusal of the music._

_What was the music piece I chose, you’d like to know._

_Remember when Viktor called me his star in Russian? I sure must have told you about it, it was the cutest thing ever, I can’t help blushing crimson every time I replay the memory in my mind. On the following day, I had to present my favorite Russian song or/and performer in my Russian class. As I started browsing the net in search for something that would appeal to me, it dawned on me that if I succeeded in digging out something remarkable, I could also use it for my free program!_

_The thought certainly galvanized me into doubling my efforts. I narrowed the search down to slightly more classic pieces in hopes to find the Russian equivalent of the aria “Stay Close to Me”._

_I believe found something even more fitting to what I want to express on the ice. A Russian romance, called “Shine, Shine, My Star” (“Gori, Gori, Moya Zvezda”)!_

_Moya zvezda!!!_

_Viktor might have called me his star, but, truly, it’s the other way around! He is my star, my wondrous, magnificent, unique star, shining brightly in the midnight sky. He is the star I’ve been ogling from afar and reaching towards my entire life._

_Without him not only would I have never become a Grand Prix Champion, but I also wouldn’t have taken up figure skating professionally!_

_I wouldn’t be who I am without Viktor Nikiforov._

_Skating to “Gori, Gori, Moya Zvezda” is my tribute to him._

_He saw through none of this. Or, worse, he did and was put off by all of it._

_Immediately after the song started (I chose the version, sung by Ana German – I rather prefer the female performances of the song), Viktor hid behind an emotionless mask. I waited and waited to glimpse any sort of emotion in his sky-blue eyes, my anxiety spiked to maximum, but once again he did not let me in. He rebuffed me. By the end of the song, I felt like a once smooth sheet of paper, mercilessly crushed into a ball, a tiny wrinkled ball of nerves, jumbled up beyond relief._

_Not that Viktor made any attempt to relieve my stressed out, overloaded nervous system._

_Instead, he said the following (not by the word, but all the points he made are here):_

_“I don’t know how you came by this song and what made you select it, but it is a terrible choice._  
_First of all, the genre is too country specific. I sincerely doubt many people outside Russia and maybe its former territories have heard a single Russian romance in their lives. If you decide on a more popular, international genre, you are much more guaranteed to connect with the audience and the jury._  
_Secondly, the romance you selected is one of the most famous ones. If you are unfortunate enough to have a Russian judge on the jury, you are in for trouble. They would automatically have their subjective expectations from a skate to this song, which will undoubtedly be high, and in case they simply happen to dislike your interpretation, they will penalize you unjustly._  
_Finally, I’m afraid there’s very little I can do to help you with the choreography.  Only you know what emotions this song stirs in you, what it means to you…_  
_Argh, no, just no, I’m not letting you skate on this. If you haven’t come up with an alternative in a week, I will choose the music for you.”_

_You don’t want me to tell you how I felt afterward. Nor do I._

_I was lucky enough that it was already past the end of the lesson and I could slip quietly out of the rink, avoiding an actual emotional breakdown. Viktor must have realized something was wrong because he followed me and awkwardly tried to apologize for slightly overreacting, simultaneously countering his own apology by claiming that he did it for the best so that I could fully grasp why my choice of music wasn’t appropriate._

_I murmured it was fine, and since Yakov had just arrived for Viktor’s lesson, which was due to begin in a couple of minutes, Viktor had no choice, but to let me go. I presume he was rather relieved by this set of circumstances. We all know that he sucks at dealing with upset people._

_The evening he just disappeared on one of his mysterious outings. How convenient._

_Tonight at least I know where he is. Though I bet he won’t be back before midnight, even though the TV show ends at 10.30._

_I know I sound like some mean control freak, don’t judge me, blame it on the alcohol. I’ve entered my second stage of drunkenness, characterized by melancholy, negative thinking, bordering with evilness._

_Really, I’m not bad, hopefully still not mad, I just want my star back._

_My Viktor, my star, not the black hole he’s been turning into ever since I came to St. Petersburg. Or maybe even ever since the final weeks before the Worlds._

_And I am not being entirely selfish here. Of course I am desperate for Viktor to start behaving like he used to towards me, but maybe I would be able to live with the estrangement if overall he looked happier than he did in Hasetsu. But he just doesn’t radiate the same enthusiasm and energy…_

_Hell, the drama queen that I am, I still might be imagining this, just because our relations are cooler. The important thing is that I want to show him that I care about him no matter what. And, no, I’m taking my words back, he cannot transform into a black hole just like that. Whatever happens between the two of us, he will remain my star and this is what my tribute to him is all about. I am sorry that I couldn’t make it less tragic, but this is the place where I am right now and these are the feelings, haunting it:_

  

_Oh shine, oh shine, my wondrous star,                        /Gori, gori, moya zvezda,/_

_Oh star of love, you welcome are.                               /Zvezda lyubvi, privetnaya!/_

_||: Here in my heart are you the precious one:        /Ty u menya odna zavetnaya,/_

_No place for more: there can be none! :||               /Drugoy ne budet nikogda./_

_Enchanted star of love divine,                                      /Zvezda lyubvi, zvezda volshebnaya/_

_Of cherished bygone days of mine.                            /Zvezda moikh minuvshikh dney./_

_||: But come what may, in my tormented soul      /Ty budesh vechno neizmennaya/_

_There shall you stay to keep me whole! :||            /V dushe izmuchenoy moyey./_

_How brightly beams your heav'nly ray.                   /Luchei tvoikh neyasnoy siloyu/_

_Shine on my paths of life today.                              /Vsya zhizn moya ozarena./_

_||: Forever shine! Ev'n on my grave afar!            /Umru li ya, ty nad mogiloyu/_

_Oh brightly shine, my wondrous star! :||           /Gori, siyay, moya zvezda!/_

_This is not a literal translation of the lyrics, but I prefer it, because it rhymes, unlike the literal one._

_But I know what you’ve been thinking all this time – what now? What do I do, since Viktor rejected this beautiful piece of music?_

_Simple – I have 6 days left to think out a choreography, which will blow none other’s than Viktor Nikiforov’s mind and make him agree to my skating to “Shine, Shine, My Star”._

_Yes, absolutely simple, child’s play, nothing to worry about._

_A toast to that._

_Aaand finally I’ve entered my third stage of drunkenness! The euphoric one! This is the best one – I feel great, and I still got my wits! Eh, somewhat at least. The fourth is the totally wasted one, during which I black out and do crazy shit._

_I still hope it doesn’t get to that. Alas, there’s way too much vodka left in the bottle._

_Oh, for the record – I stole Viktor’s vodka. He isn’t quite the vodka guy, prefers wine, but he made the fatal mistake to mention where he keeps the alcohol and among all the wine there I found this one darn expensive vodka bottle._

_Yes, it’s entirely his fault that he’s forced to part with it – he shouldn’t let overly emotional Japanese men settle in his home and continuously leave them unsupervised at night._

_Damn, you’ve gotta give it to me, my grammar keeps being top notch, no matter how drunk I get._

_And my vision is still clear enough so that I can write._

_Well, I’ll be writing until the lines of this diary get blurred._

_Haha, what was that shitty pop song called, Blurred Lines, wasn’t it, with the women, wearing underwear, parts of which were made of plastic?_

_I bet there was a line, going like – “Maybe I’m going deaf, maybe I’m going blind, maybe I’m going ooout of myy mind!”_

_It’s kinda suited for the occasion. Wait, wait, it’s way too early to switch to dirty songs, let’s listen to something more decent. Like a song called “Happy End” by the Ukrainian band “Para Normalnyh”. A girl from my Russian course presented the band as her favorite Russian-speaking one, despite not hailing from Russia. I even considered offering it as a replacement to “Gori, gori, moya zvezda”. But, no, it’s a little cheesy and nowhere as touching as “Moya zvezda”. And it’s simply not about Viktor, it’s not a tribute to him, it’s more about our relationship’s turn to the worse. And pursuing a way to save it._

_But “us” or no “us”, there still will be Viktor to keep shining. This is what I want my skate to be about._

_However, I want to party now and not cry, so, instead of “Moya zvezda” let’s sing “Happy End”. I suck at singing, so here’s the chorus, in case you’d like to sing along and silence the dreadful drunk noise, coming out of my throat:_

_Don`t write "the End",                                               /Ne pishi "The End"/_

_I`ll contrive a happy End.                                         /Ya pridumayu Happy End./_

_I`ll turn everything,                                                  /Povernu vsyo tak,/_

_so that two hearts again beat synchronized._ _/Shtob dva serdza vnov bilis v takt./_

_It`s all like a movie,                                                 /Vsyo ved kak v kino,/_

_Just let me finish it`s filming.                                /Razreshi lish dosnyat evo./_

_Don`t write "the End",                                          /Ne pishi "The End"/_

_I`ll contrive a happy End.                                    /Ya pridumayu Happy End./_

_Great! Singing does lighten your spirit, you know?!_

_Wow, right… Before I continue my private party, there was something else I wanted to tell you about…_

_Yep, about the newly formed “Team Yuri 2”!_

_Consists of Yurio and I. Purpose – training together for mutual benefit._

_I’m teaching him how to be a weak crybaby of a loser, he’s teaching me how to be an arrogant asshole of a winner._

_It kinda works for now. I mean – there’s some improvement in both our performances. Especially Yurio’s._

_To be honest, he's strangely thoughtful these days. Ever since the day he almost gave up on Oizys he’s gradually started acting more… mature?_

_As for me, if not anything else, I’ve at least gotten the hang of the quadruple Salchow again. It seems only Yurio can teach it to me properly. Meanwhile, Viktor managed to get me to land the quad flip._

_Oh, damn, I wanted to elaborate more on the days since Yurio’s grandfather arrived (the man even had the time to leave, before I could make myself pour my emotions in here again)._

_What a shame that I’m too drunk and fed up with writing to care._

_Ah, what to tell you, there’s been some bad, a little good, the worst I told you about already._

_That should be enough for you, now let’s get back to drinking and singing!!_

...xXxXxXx…

 

A quadruple flip, followed by a triple toe-loop.

Hesitation and uncertainty were visible in the combination’s execution, but the fact that Yuuri managed to land it at all was enough to boost his confidence. Entering a spread eagle he glided in a curve before performing a drag with his torso leaned backward and arms spread sideways.

After traveling a significant distance this way he rose, rotated, making a full circle, while pointing at an imaginary audience, and finished with right hand on his hip and left arm stretched horizontally with a slight bend in the elbow.

To Yuuri’s surprise, Yuri Plisetsky awarded his performance with several slow claps.

“Great, Yuuri, that was your best ending so far. Plus you have more than enough time to perfect the combination. What does Viktor say about it?”

Yuuri pursed his lips and said nothing.

Yurio frowned at the lack of an immediate response and exclaimed beratingly:

“Don’t tell me you still haven’t shown it to him!”

“I will show it when I am certain I won’t make a flop out of it. Until then I’m sticking to a quad Salchow-triple toe combination.”

“Katsudon! He’s your coach! I fail Oizys every day and endure Yakov’s endless rant about it! I do that because at times that stupid old man actually blurts out something useful. That’s the whole point of having a coach!”

“Don’t tell that to me, when we both know the point of our training sessions together is to finally stop screwing our short programs in front of Viktor. You don’t want to keep failing in front of him no more than I do.”

“With the difference that he’s not my coach, Katsudon! I come by your lessons with him for half an hour, and I’m out. Yakov is the one, who monitors my progress. And every time I perform Oizys when I train with him, I don’t hold back. I make myself cry the shit out of myself if I have to, to make a better performance. I just want to save my dignity in front of Viktor, until I find a more controlled way to adequately feel that music. This is what you’re helping me with here. Meanwhile, instead of struggling to nail the quad flip-triple toe on your own, you can ask the self-proclaimed flip master, Viktor Nikiforov, for advice. And save yourself time for Eutychia!”

Yuuri quirked an eyebrow.

“You do realize that you are beginning to give away boring lectures I can’t possibly make myself care about, as though you are my coach?”

“Damn it, what’s wrong with you today? First, you make me wait for you for ages, until you finally deem fit to answer your phone and tell me to start jogging without you! Secondly, you’re nowhere to be seen at the gym. Then, you show up at the rink so late that we barely have time to do anything! And now you’re acting like a complete ass.”

“I’m acting like you do.”

“No, you don’t. I’m never late for training.”

“Oh, what a significant difference.”

Russian Yuri rolled his eyes.

“I can see my lessons weren’t fruitless, but the point was to use the asshole attitude during your performance on the ice, not against me, when I’m trying to do you a favor.”

“You are an asshole every time I try to help you. So, why the hell shouldn’t I?”

The angel-faced teenager’s delicate features turned solemn, giving him a look, far beyond his 16 years.

“Because you’re not me. This is just not who you are.”

Yuuri Katsuki clenched his jaw and looked down.

“But it is who I have to become to summon the required confidence for a decent performance to Eutychia. So why not get into the role more thoroughly by practicing it in real life?”

Angry flames were dancing in Yurio’s eyes.

“You know what? Go ahead. You want to be an ass towards somebody? Make Viktor that somebody. Next time he berates you about some dumb shit during training, make him pay. Like I do with Yakov. He yells at me all the time. I insult him all the time. We’re even.”

Yuri Plisetsky grabbed Yuuri’s shoulders roughly. The older man looked at him with alarm.

“You do that if you want to. But don’t lie to yourself that you’re doing it for the sake of your performance and not simply because you want to do it.”    

A tinge of horror clouded Yuuri’s chestnut eyes as he processed his friend’s words.

He had misbehaved towards Yurio from the moment he had stepped on the ice. He had done that because he was in a terrible mood and wanted to vent his frustration on somebody.

_What is wrong with me, indeed?! Yuri was right from the start to ask me this question._

On impulse, Yuuri Katsuki leaned forward and gathered his unexpecting friend, who had loosened the hold on his shoulders, in a heartfelt embrace.

“I am so sorry, Yuri, it won’t happen again, you’ve been such a great friend to me ever since I arrived here, and I’ve counted you as a friend ever since you came to Hasetsu last year.”

While Yuuri was pouring out his feelings in an urge to make everything right, his Russian namesake was standing frozen in one place, shocked and clueless to how he was supposed to react.

 _This Japanese Katsudon fucking embraced me!_ was the only thought, occupying his mind and was spectacularly failing to mobilize him to respond in any way.

It was by the end of Yuuri’s confession that Yurio’s stunned surprise finally abated.

“Ah, Katsudon, no need to apologize, I was not fishing for apologies here, now get off me!”

 Yuuri seemed to have none of this and refused to let go until his friend made him to by pulling backward.

“Never do that again! You hear me?!” the Russian ordered with a raised finger.

“But I just wanted to say sorry,” Yuuri muttered, looking at Yuri with uncomprehending puppy eyes.

“I don’t go around and hug people! People don’t hug me. Get that?!”

“Oh, that’s the problem. I thought you were still offended.”

“I wasn’t offended, nobody can offend me! And don’t you dare hug me again! Like I said, I don’t hug people and people don’t hug me.”

“Hmm, maybe because you scare them off. And you do hug people, your grandfather certainly counts as a person.”

Yuri was mortified. His flushed cheeks confirmed it.

“No, he doesn’t count! He falls into… another category. Argh, that man raised me, alright? This is the difference, and it is a damn big one.”

A thoughtful expression was plastered on Yuuri’s face.

_His grandfather raised him… What about his parents?_

He knew better than delve into the subject. It could easily turn out a sensitive one, and he didn’t want to strain his relations with Yurio any further.

_I hope he gets comfortable enough around me to gradually start sharing more personal information._

“Good. I managed to silence you, Katsudon, because there’s something more I want to tell you. You need to get a little more chill around Vikor, ok? I know this comes from someone, who’s arguing with him all the time, but… Wait, you know what? Maybe you really should use the asshole attitude towards him.”

At Yuuri’s condescending expression, Yurio felt the need to clarify.

“Not to extremes like insulting him during training, of course. Use it, for example when we’re at the gym, and he tries to mess with you like he does with everybody, heck, like we all do at the gym to pass the time. Be cooler about it. And fight back for once! Take my approach – fight fire with fire, throw at him a nasty remark of your own. Or something. He doesn’t mean half of what he blurts out there anyway.”

“He doesn’t, does he?”

“I bet so. If he did, then he’d be the worst person on Earth and I still kinda think he isn’t. Where will that put JJ?”

“Good thinking, Yuri,” the Japanese uttered with a laugh.

“Oh, and Yuuri – one more thing I always forget to mention. Yakov warned me the season I moved to St. Petersburg to train with him that Viktor is a total douche every June. He refused to give me the reason for it, just said to keep it in mind and be more forgiving. Just so that you know, plus this year the devils got him way earlier. He’ll be that way for sure until the end of the month.”

A thousand questions whirled in Yuuri’s mind at this revelation. While a part of him was relieved that there was some reason for Viktor’s behavior he had nothing to do with and that everything would be over soon, another part of him was skeptical.

_He wasn’t like this last June… He might have been a little moodier, but he didn’t close himself off, on the contrary, we went on long walks on the beach together…_

Yuuri would have had a hard time escaping from getting sucked into memories of Viktor and him watching the waves crash into the ocean’s shore, wasn’t it for Yuri Plisetsky’s timely intervention. 

“Earth calls Katsudon, hello there, I’m starting to believe that you also go crazy in June.”

Yuuri blinked several times.

“I might.”

Yurio arched an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong with you today? Why did you skip training?”

The Japanese decided to be blunt about it.

“I got dead drunk last night, and I couldn’t operate until I got relatively rid of the hangover. My head is still about to explode…”

“And here I thought this was something serious! But you just got drunk like you did during the banquet in Sochi! I don’t want to hear anything about it, who knows what you ended up doing this time over!”

“Was it that bad in Sochi?” Yuuri mumbled, his face burning.

“No, it wasn’t that bad, it was worse! Now let’s skate, because Viktor is going to be here soon!”

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

As his Russian fellow skater came towards him to hear his opinion of the short program, he had just performed, breathless and upset, Yuuri Katsuki pursed his lips, wondering how to help the teenager with his emotional struggle.

“Yuri, you certainly have found what Oizys means to you, but you get overwhelmed by your feelings and either turn violent or too…”

“Fucking depressed and cry like a baby, I know, I’m pathetic. Sometimes it’s a mixture of the two like today. And if I try not to feel anything, my performance is fucking robotic,” Yuri Plisetsky spat out angrily, wiping tears from his face.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, you’ve made great progress,” the Japanese reassured while searching for an adequate solution.

“Bullshit.”

Yuuri sighed. With relief, because he had just come up with something, they hadn’t already tried.

“Look, why don’t we try listening to some less tragic songs than Oizys’ theme and skating to them freestyle? This might unlock the middle ground, you can’t find currently. A place with a more moderate amount of sadness. And no anger, of course.”

Yuri Plisetsky gave him a pointed look.

“I doubt this can solve my problem. And we’ve run out of time, anyway.”

“We have time for one song. I know exactly which one to play. “Happy End”!”

“This doesn’t sound sad at all,” the teenager grunted, but an angry grimace soon replaced his admonishing one. “You can’t mean “Happy End” by Para Normalnyh! Can you?! This is the worst song in Russian ever made! But you can’t have heard it, you can't even speak Russian!”

“Uhm, sorry Yurio, but this is exactly the song I have in mind,” Yuuri confessed while searching for the song on the Internet.

“Katsudon! For an unknown reason, all the girls in my class are crazy about this stupid love bullshit you call a song. It’s horrible, way too pop and way too old. Who the hell listens to old pop? Only the stupid girls in my class and you! I spend hardly any time at school and get to hear it every time I set foot in there nonetheless.”

Yuuri snickered.

“That’s too bad for you because I challenge you to subdue your anger and try feeling sad and romantic, Yurio.”

“How underhanded of you, Katsudon! Everyone knows I don’t back down from a challenge.”

Yuuri smiled and pressed “Play”.

Initially, the Japanese skated mechanically, ignoring the music, concentrating instead on the teenager’s movements. Yuri Plisetsky was obviously having a hard time getting anywhere near the desired emotional state. However, after the chorus, Yuuri could note an entirely unexpected change taking place. The harsh edginess of Yurio’s skating was slowly melting away, giving way to something that slightly resembled melancholic sensuousness.

_Sad love songs, that’s what might just solve some of his problems with Oizys. If only love songs could also solve real-life love dilemmas…_

Sighing wistfully, Yuuri let himself be encompassed by the music. Surrendering his body to it, he felt as though he was a vessel, driven forward by the power of the emotions, conveyed in the song. He glided on the ice in an elaborate step sequence, which was being created in the spur of the moment. As the chorus was repeated for the third and last time, his eyes glistened with boundless determination, the determination to write a happy end and to turn everything as it used to be.

No, not as it used to be. Better than ever before.

When the song ended, Yuuri found himself standing in the middle of the rink, breathless and clueless to what had just happened to him. He was not left with much time to wonder.

“Bravo, Yuuri!” his Russian friend cheered. Having caught a glimpse of his extraordinary skating by the end of the song, the teenager had stopped to watch and been pleasantly surprised. “This is the kind of determination you need for Eutychia.”

“Determination?!” the Japanese exclaimed dubiously. “I really did not do anything special, Yuri. Or intentional.”

“You must be joking!” As Yuuri’s face grew even more uncomprehending, Yurio scowled. “You are the stupidest pig I’ve ever met, Katsudon! You made it, you fool! You looked so damn confident as if you were the greatest figure skater of all time! Someone bigger than Viktor. Someone, who had never lost the first place to anyone!”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. He did not have the slightest idea how to respond. He was convinced his friend was exaggerating but wasn’t in the mood for arguing the point, especially when Viktor could enter at any moment and find them caught up in the argument.  And find out about their training sessions. And make him show his newfound determination, the existence of which was highly questionable.

“Don’t you think it’s high time you made up another nickname for me? I’m afraid I’m currently way under the appropriate weight both for a pig and for katsudon.”

This was the first thing that came to Yuuri’s mind, which provided an escape from the subject of his skating. 

The feisty teenager narrowed his eyes, obviously not pleased with the sudden change of topic. Nonetheless, he sized his fellow-skater up, as though he was seeing him for the first time, in order to rebut his absurd statement. Yuuri Katsuki was a generous portion of katsudon with high fat concentration through and through, denying it wouldn’t help it. However, Yurio was in for a surprise.

“When the hell did you get that thin?” he exclaimed disbelievingly. “An image of you double this size is still stuck in my mind.”

“You’ve got to update your system more regularly.”

“But, seriously, you can’t have been that thin when you came to Saint Petersburg.”

“I wasn’t. I’ve found that I’ve lost my appetite ever since I got here. It might be the change of scenery talking.”

“I don’t know what’s talking, but you can’t be that thin after all the katsudon pirozhki my grandfather baked for Viktor and you. The hell, Yakov’s been barking for… what? Three days already that I’ve grown fat! Me! Fat! He’s gone crazy, that old man. And you dare stand here, looking so thin, after my own coach dubbed me overweight!”

“First of all, whatever difference in your figure Yakov spotted, I can’t see it. You are as overly thin as ever. Secondly, I can’t have gained any weight from the pirozhki, because I barely ate any. Don’t get me wrong, they were delicious, but... Like I said, I lost my appetite, obviously even for katsudon.”

“This can’t be. Katsudon not eating katsudon? You sure there’s nothing wrong with you? And with your health? Apart from the bad drinking habits?”

“I’m alright, plus the lack of appetite made it significantly easier for me to keep fit. And I haven’t lost my appetite for katsudon entirely. I was about to attack that huge last package your grandfather gave us, but found it in the garbage bin, empty. It seems that Viktor got it first.”

“He ate the whole package, you say? At least I’m not the only one Yakov scolds for being overweight these days,” Yurio stated smugly. “Speaking of the devil, where the hell is he? If he joined you on your drinking spree last night, I’m outta here. I will not stand his post-hangover mood as well.”

“Relax, he wasn’t with me.”

The Russian Yuri was skeptical.

“Had he been, you wouldn’t remember it anyway, so your response isn’t worth shit. If he’s not here in 10 minutes, I’m leaving.”

“You’re leaving? Come on, Yurio, I’ve just arrived! You certainly can spare half an hour to train with my flawless person!” Viktor winked enticingly with a self-assured smile on his face, as he entered the hall energetically.

Yuri Plisetsky rolled his eyes.

“This day just took a major turn for the worse. I don’t know about you, Yuuri, but for me, even his grumpy mood is better than his flamboyant ego displays. It’s the lesser evil.”

“Grumpy? When have I been grumpy?” Viktor wondered absent-mindedly while putting his skates on.

The two Yuris silently exchanged annoyed glances while waiting for him.

“My two little students. Which one should I torture first with his short program? Russian Yuri…” he said, when already standing in front of them, and looked in Yuri Plisetsky’s direction, “…or Japanese Yuuri?”

Viktor’s eyes took in Yuuri’s slender form and couldn’t help lingering on it. So remarkably fit… The face, so pale and delicate… The pair of expressive chestnut eyes, which made his heart race… The unruly black hair, darker than the night...

“I love your hair today, Yuuri,” an enchanted Viktor remarked with a slightly unnerving for Yuuri smile.

_Why is he smiling like that?! Is he mocking me?! My hair looks horrendous!_

Yuuri cursed his laziness. Several hours earlier he lied in bed until it was too late to take a shower, only to look himself in the mirror and find that his hair was sticking out in every possible direction. To his embarrassment, he had failed to comb it into submission, so he had been forced to head for the rink, looking like a hedgehog (according to his own description of himself).

His face bright red, he looked at Viktor in search of what was truly on his mind. Mission impossible. His sky-blue eyes were shining with too many emotions for Yuuri to be able to sort through.

The Japanese held his breath. _Can I be the reason for all of them?_

“Not again! I’ve had enough of you two staring at each other! You’re not at home, be more professional!” Yuri Plisetsky reprimanded heatedly.

As both Yuuri and Viktor looked at him with embarrassed, disheartened expressions, the teenager took pity on them, and added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, but you do stare at each other all the time! Just do it, when I’m not around, okay?”

An amused light appeared in Viktor’s eyes.

“Haha, don’t worry, Yurio, we will do our best to behave ourselves,” he uttered, winking conspiratorially at Yuuri, who simply went redder than he already was, wondering what exactly Viktor meant by this promise. Out of a sudden, Viktor’s expression turned surprised. “Yuuri! Did Yurio just apologize? Have you ever heard him apologize? Are you alright, Yurio?” he inquired, throwing a peculiar look at the teenager.

“No, are you alright, Viktor? Why are you suddenly being so nice? Yuuri, you are the eye-witness of Viktor agreeing to do what I told him to for the first time in history!”

Yuuri just shook his head at his two constantly arguing friends.

“I’m turning on the music before you’ve broken this temporary truce.”

Viktor flashed another smile at him. A knowing one.

“Your hair looks stunning today, Yuuri, I meant what I said earlier.”

Both the smile and the comment caught the Japanese off-guard. Unsure how to react, he willed his feet to start skating towards the music player without giving an answer.

He could feel Viktor’s eyes on his back. Or was it just his imagination?

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

10:30 pm. Viktor Nikiforov let an excited bunch of journalists drag him towards a famous nightclub.

He needed a drink. He sure did, after all the fake smiles, the shallow conversations, the tasteless jokes of his latest TV appearance. Years ago, he might have enjoyed the media attention in hopes it would fill a void in his heart, he had carried for as long as he could remember. 

These days, all of it left a bitter taste in his mouth and only served to remind him how lonely one could feel, regardless of how many people he was surrounded with.

So, he drank. Of course, he was old and experienced enough to know that alcohol only makes matters worse, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted to forget everything. If possible, to go to bed that evening and wake up as anyone, but Viktor Nikiforov.

1:00 am. He had to get out of that God-forsaken club. He couldn’t bear the company of those journalists a second longer. Also, he had drunk way more than he ought to have. Not that much that he couldn’t drive himself home, of course.

He went out without saying “Goodbye” to anyone and fired up the engine of his silver Mercedes.

It took him a moment to realize that he was wrong to think he was still able to drive safely.

_Fair enough, then I will drive myself dangerously._

As he parked his car in an underground garage several minutes later, he praised his driving abilities for not having caused an accident despite his intoxicated state.

Truth be told, that night he was just very fortunate.

Finding his way to his apartment successfully and relatively easily, he entered his room to finally surrender to sleep.

As he laid eyes on his bed, he stopped walking so abruptly, that he almost lost his balance.

 _For God’s sake, I’ve lost my mind!_ he thought, gaping at what he perceived an image of Yuuri Katsuki, sleeping on his bed, projected by his drunk subconscious.

He rubbed his eyes, but as he opened them again, Yuuri hadn’t disappeared.

_Oh, no, that’s bad, very bad. I can’t go crazy when the season hasn’t even started!_

He cautiously walked over to the bed.

_This is the moment of truth. If he disappears, when my hand passes through him, then I haven’t irreversibly lost my sanity._

He stretched out a hand to caress the younger man’s cheek.

His fingers touched smooth skin.

Viktor gasped.

_Yuuri! It is you! What are you doing here?!_

He continued caressing his cheek. The Japanese was so deeply asleep that he made no reaction. Viktor thought about what to do next and frowned.

He had to carry Yuuri back to his bed. That would be the most sensible course of action.

But Viktor had drunk too much to be sensible.

He collapsed on top of Yuuri, burying the smaller man with his body and wrapping his hands tightly around him.

 _Mmm, I want you to miraculously appear in my bed every night, zvezda moya...!_ was his last thought, before he drifted away, calmed by Yuuri’s steady heartbeats.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

05:30 am. His phone was vibrating and ringing in the pocket of his jacket. Not having any idea what was going on, he pulled it out.

It turned out to be his morning alarm.

Shit.

He had to get up, but he felt like he had been beaten to death last night.

Last night…

Grinding TV interview, obnoxious journalists, terrible bar, too much drinking, drunk driving and…

“Yuuri?!” he exclaimed slightly panicky, the closeness of the Japanese’s peaceful face giving him an electrifying thrill.

_You are still here, still very much asleep. How can you sleep so deeply? And how can you be so unabashedly cute, while asleep?! Plus, what happened to your hair? Some might say it’s one hell of messed up, I say it’s lovely!_

Viktor sighed. He had to get going. Lying in bed and ogling Yuuri was not an option, when he had a scheduled training session obscenely early in the morning he had to drag himself to. He could only hope he would behave adequately enough after a 4 hours’ sleep and the considerable amount of alcohol consumed the previous night.

He looked at Yuuri again. _What should I make of this, sleeping beauty?_

_How did you end up in my room?_

_Hmm, you’re wearing what you usually do at home… But you also sleep similarly clothed, so I can’t make anything of your clothing.  You hadn’t tucked yourself with a blanket though, so you most probably didn’t fall asleep here intentionally…_

_Ah, I don’t have the time to play Sherlock Holmes. Most probably you went to the toilet in the middle of the night or something and entered the wrong room afterward._

_Hehe, not wrong at all from my point of view…_

Viktor sighed again.

_I am a hopeless case. Now let’s get you, beautiful, back to your bed, because you’ll freak out if you wake up in mine._

To his relief, he managed to carry the younger man back to his room without an accident.

 _The bed is messy, another proof of my theory. See, Watson? Elementary_! Viktor bragged mentally, getting into character again.

But as he tucked Yuuri and allowed his fingers to gently caress his face afterward, his heart sank.

_You can’t have possibly been in my bed for a reason, can you?  What would make you do such a thing? Moreover, it’s not like Sherlock Holmes to be wrong about things._

Viktor smiled sadly.

_I can’t let myself believe anything past my theory right now. It’s for the best. Both yours and mine._

_Hmm, but that doesn’t mean that I have to be miserable that my stolen night with you is over. I choose to be happy that it happened._

Viktor pressed his lips against Yuuri’s forehead.

_Thank you for mistaking your room with mine, sleepy head._

He grinned at his adorable still sleeping, clueless and touchingly innocent Yuuri.

_Yes, today I’ll definitely be in a good mood._

Viktor exited the room, without noting the bottle of vodka on the floor by the other side of the bed.

Or paying any attention to the open notebook on the desk with an exceptionally poorly done painting of a starry night with a single star outshining all the others. And a lonely man, watching it from far away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not Russian, so I can't be certain how well-known Russian romances among the population are. Let's assume for the sake of the story that they are quite well-known, especially among the middle-aged and older people. 
> 
> Sorry for the delay, but, unfortunately, I can't promise the next update will be out sooner, I've been busy lately.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this one. The last part from Viktor's POV was not in the plans to be revealed right now, but I figured the story could use some Viktor-centered parts right now. The wait for the Viktor-centered chapter would seem too long otherwise.


	6. Barcelona...

/…and King JJ's notorious habit of ruining restaurant dinners/

On a late Sunday afternoon, the radiant June sun was shining gently over the monumental General Staff Building at 6/8 Dvortsovaya Square, where a number people were marveling at the unique exhibits of the Hermitage Museum. Among the numerous visitors, a particular group of several young people stood out. Was it because of the different languages its members spoke throughout their visit, the endless squabbling between two of them or the fact that they were halted for autographs several times, they simply never failed to attract attention.

At this moment, the arguing duo was standing in front of a painting, depicting a naked female body. "Dryad", Picasso was written next to it.

"Look at this woman. She's awfully ugly and disproportionate. Why would anyone want to paint something like this? And why is its painter one of the most renowned artists ever? I just don't get that man, Picasso, and even less why he is so famous."

"One needs to be educated enough to appreciate his art. No wonder you can't, JJ. I bet you don't even know what a dryad is."

"Alright, professor, you win this round. Oh, please, enlighten me with your superior knowledge!" the black-haired Canadian exclaimed mockingly, his rich blue eyes lit with amusement.

"People like you don't deserve to get educated. You're lucky that you're our guest; otherwise, I wouldn't have been making an effort all day. Dryads are oak three nymphs according to Ancient Greek mythology. You've heard something about Greek mythology at least, right? Or were you just pretending to know what I was talking about, while we were viewing the Ancient Greek Art exhibition?" Yurio arched an eyebrow questioningly and slightly skeptically.

"Be careful not to overdo your witty remarks, little fairy. Because King JJ always returns the favor. And I'm still not pardoning Picasso for painting this thing. Fair enough, the woman looks made of wood, but what nymph is that ugly?"

Yurio concealed a small smile at JJ's blunt and stubborn criticism of Picasso. He himself was not overly fond of the painter's work, but why friendly agree with none other than Jean-Jacques Leroy when he could use his detailed knowledge about Picasso to paint his skating rival as a total philistine instead? So, he armed himself with another biting comment, enjoying himself to the fullest.

Meanwhile, Yuuri Katsuki was in a different room, melancholic chestnut eyes fixed on a painting by Vincent van Gogh, called "A Lilac Bush". Its bright ever-mingling colors painted pictures of blooming trees with Viktor sitting underneath them, gazing at the horizon, thus bringing back to life a spring Yuuri would never forget. The past year's spring. He had hoped to find Van Gogh's "The Starry Night" or his "Starry Night Over the Rhône" in the Hermitage, but the lilacs were doing more than well to transport him to another world. Could he stay here forever?

Out of a sudden, he tensed and looked at his watch – the opening hours of the museum were drawing in. Finding no one of his friends in the room, he set out to search for them. Just how long had he been staring at that painting?

...xXxXxXx…

"Leroy, just confess already that you know nothing about art. Picasso was one of the few painters, who were dubbed geniuses, while still alive. Fame must be one of the reasons he could allow himself to change women like tissues. The man had two wives, four children and an X number of girlfriends."

"And now you've cemented my dislike of him! I met the love of my life at 18 and married her at 20. This is what a man does," JJ stated proudly and cast a loving glance at Isabella, who had just stopped by the two of them, accompanied by Viktor.

Yuri shook his head, but then looked around searchingly.

"Viktor, Isabella, where's Yuuri? He was walking with you last time I checked. Don't tell me we've lost him again!"

"Well, I remember him looking at a Van Gogh picture quite intensely. I've no recollection of him after that," Viktor supplied.

"Seriously, that's the best lead we have? With his mobile dead, we are searching for a needle in a haystack! Aren't you supposed to, I don't know, look out for him, Viktor?"

As Isabella noted Viktor's eyes narrowing almost menacingly, she was quick to cut in, "I say there's no reason for panic. There's 4 of us. If we split up, we will find him quickly. He can't be far off."

"Quite right. You've found me in record time," a familiar voice sounded from behind.

"Yuuri! I swear this is the last time I'm going anywhere with you. You are like a child, wandering away every time his parents aren't looking."

"That's the difference, Yuri. I'm not a child, for you to make such a big deal out of it."

"Ha, if anyone is a child here, that would be you, little fairy. You've got 2 more years until you make it to adulthood," JJ teased with a smile.

"Stop calling me that, or I swear I will…"

Viktor didn't give Yuri the chance to finish off his threat.

"Forgotten again what Yakov says about acting civilly in public, eh, Yurio?" he admonished, while forcefully dragging the scowling teenager to the adjoining exhibition room.

Jean-Jacques laughed at the sight of them.

"Viktor truly acts like an older brother of Yuri's. It's interesting to see him in that role."

"Hanging around with these two can be a lot of things, but boring is never one of them," Yuuri remarked, his eyes shining warmly.

"So, you are enjoying living here, in Saint Petersburg?" Isabella inquired politely.

The Japanese pursed his lips ever so slightly. His eyes darkened.

"Yes, why wouldn't I? I love the city, and I get to spend the greater deal of my time with Yuri and Viktor."

Anyone, who knew Yuuri well, would have noticed the forcedness of the statement. But not the Japanese's current companions.

"You and Yuri seem close, indeed. You must have made a great impression on him. He isn't the kind of person to become friends with anyone. Look at his attitude towards me, for that matter."

"It's not like you don't encourage it, JJ," Isabella countered with a raised eyebrow.

"But I haven't done anything!" the Canadian skater protested heatedly. "See, Yuuri? She keeps scolding me for nothing! It's grown to become a habit of hers. I wouldn't have it any other way than being married to my Isabella, but keep in mind that marriage brings forward hidden sides of your lover's personality. You hadn't crossed me once before the wedding, love!" JJ exclaimed, pulled his wife to him and planted a soft kiss on her lips.

Isabella laughed mirthfully.

"Love doesn't keep blinding you forever, JJ. Even kings have flaws."

"That stung, Isabella! I liked being flawless to you."

"Mmm, I know you did, but that doesn't mean I love you any less, my king."

She kissed his cheek sweetly.

Jean-Jacques exhaled loudly. "That's better. But I still can't promise I won't be tempted to turn back time to the good old days next time you decide I've earned a dressing down."

"Good that you don't have a time machine, then," the young woman smiled.

"Haha, let's put a stop to this conversation before we've scared Yuuri away from getting married," JJ grinned at Yuuri. Yuuri, who had observed wistfully their good-natured bickering, which only served to underline how much they loved each other.

Blushing and frowning slightly, the Japanese answered, "You can resume it later, but now we'd better catch up with the others. The museum is closing in a couple of minutes, and there are some artworks left to see."

...xXxXxXx…

The early evening hours found the group of friends taking a walk on the famous Nevsky Prospekt – Saint Petersburg's main street and an architectural wonder in itself, presenting magnificent buildings from various historical periods. After also taking a look at the area around Nevsky Prospekt, they ended up dining at a lovely restaurant nearby.

"Wherever one goes together with Yurio, they always find themselves here in the end. It's inevitable. You should get paid for supplying the restaurant with a regular clientele, Yurio," Viktor remarked at one point.

"On the contrary, I should pay them double for these divine pirozhki!" Yuri muffled with his mouth full.

"Yuri is addicted to pirozhki, and this is the place, where they serve the best ones," Yuuri clarified. "But you've probably figured that out already," he added, as Russian Yuri continued attacking his meal hungrily.

"Sorry to interrupt your sharp-set eating, Yuri, but I still can't grasp one thing – how do you know so much about art? Much more so than either one of us," JJ wondered, eyeing the teenager with genuine interest.

"It's easy to know more than you, Leroy, and I bet not only about art."

"Will you answer my question like a grown-up, or are we supposed to endure this teenage punkness of yours for the rest of the night?" JJ countered, visibly irritated.

"No one is making you stay here," Yurio said nonchalantly, doing his best to hide his growing anger at being dubbed a mercurial adolescent.

But as both Yuuri and Viktor shot him admonishing glances, he knew he had taken things too far this time. He sighed inwardly. _I won't be able to escape from answering this question._

The truth was that he had made it his personal mission to get acquainted with the arts. For Yuri, a figure skater was more of an artist than a sportsperson, so how could he be a successful skater, if he could not understand art? However, there was another, simpler reason for his interest in the arts – he simply loved them all. He could stare at paintings in the Hermitage for hours (an activity, he particularly enjoyed doing with his grandfather during the elderly man's rare visits). He could listen to music all day. He had freely downloaded tons of films from Russian torrent sites, people from other parts of the world had to pay for. A year ago he had also fallen in love with ballet. Well, apart from the moments his feet hurt too much, and he could do nothing but image going home to Moscow and burning down the Bolshoi Theatre, one of the symbols of Russian opera, theater, and ballet.

Naturally, he wanted none of the people, sitting around the table, to find out any of this. So, Yuri came up with an alternative story, which fit perfectly into the gray zone between truth and lie. The omission of some facts and the exaggeration of others could do wonders.

"You want an answer, Leroy? I'll give it to you. Unlike you, I place much value on my education. Currently, I have a very nasty arts teacher, who makes us study art history like mad. Being the straight A student that I am, I know everything."

"No offense, but how exactly is knowing who painted what going to help you in life? Or on the ice? At school, one should pick and choose. Learn the truly valuable and use his celebrity status as a top skater to do the rest."

"Under using one's celebrity status, he means getting his parents to talk to the teachers into giving him better grades. Or making classmates do his homework for him, explain him everything before important exams and let him copy from their work on examination day."

"Isabella! No one needed the details! And I didn't make anyone do anything, people freely offered their help. I am King JJ, after all. It's an honor for anybody to write my homework for me."

As all his companions looked at him with disgruntled expressions, JJ exclaimed:

"It was a joke! Why do you never get my jokes?!"

Viktor sighed.

"You simply have a poor sense of humor. As for school and studying – I couldn't be further away from this topic. And if you continue discussing it, I'm going to start feeling ancient."

"You wouldn't be so far away from it, had you gone to university!" Yuri Plisetsky scolded him. "What are you going to do, after you retire from figure skating? Become a jobless person? Or live on your past fame as TV commentator? Yuuri is way smarter than all of you here. He went to college in the USA and has his future secured. That's exactly what I am going to do."

Before Viktor had a chance to respond, Jean-Jacques cut in:

"I am considering becoming a coach like my parents. Hell, I can even become a rock star, I certainly do have contacts among famous musicians, and I've always been good at singing. I can play the guitar relatively good, too. University is not a must for me. And it's never too late to attend it anyway, I only graduated from school a year ago."

"You hear that, feisty kitten? I can still go to university at 30. What university won't take Viktor Nikiforov? My high school diploma is perfect. With my brilliant English, I can study in the USA just like Yuuri did. Oh, and I really want to see you passing hard exams and winning gold medals at the same time, Yuri."

"I will manage just fine," Yuri Plisetsky countered, undeterred. "As for your so-called brilliant high-school diploma – you got it like JJ got his – receiving high marks because of your skating career and getting Yakov to yell at the teachers, who didn't want to give you high grades for no work. He offered to do the same for me, but unlike you, I declined. I want to actually earn my good diploma."

Jean-Jacques' black eyebrows connected in a "V". His deep blue eyes grew darker.

"Don't kid yourself, Yuri. You might manage to get by well in high-school, but there's no way you'll study a demanding discipline at university and still be on the top of the skating world. Let's be honest, ice skating requires certain sacrifices." Noting the fact that an eerie silence had suddenly settled over the table, he continued in a milder tone, "Though, I would not say not going to university and doing any studying is much of a sacrifice. What about you, Yuuri? Are you going to become a coach or are you going to work in another field?"

Yuuri blushed slightly. He had hoped not to get dragged into the conversation because he considered his "plans" for the future nothing but wild dreams. He blinked several times to chase away the unwanted visions of Viktor and him, training students together.

"I… can't really say. I would like to stay in figure skating, but I don't know if I will be any good as a coach. So, most probably I will end up doing something else."

"Depreciating yourself again, eh, Yuuri?!" Viktor scolded heatedly, eliciting an embarrassed yelp from his student. He put a hand on the younger man's shoulder, squeezed it gently and looked Yuuri in the eye. "Listen to me. You will make a great coach. You have the patience, the figure skating talent there's no need to discuss, and you are the kindest person I know."

Yuuri's cheeks were burning, and so were the flames of admiration in Viktor's eyes, which had Yuuri's breath knocked out of his lungs.

"You might have problems only with rascals like our Yurio," Viktor suddenly added with a laugh and ruffled the teenager's hair. While Yuuri gasped for breath and Russian Yuri called Viktor something filthy sounding in Russian, JJ's and Isabella's eyes darted between Yuuri and Viktor. The two shared a knowing look.

"Yurio, behave yourself!" Viktor retorted at hearing the colorful offense.

"Don't dare touch my hair ever again!" Yurio snapped viciously. "And Yuuri, don't listen to the bullshit he's selling you, becoming a coach is the worst decision you can ever make. First, there's not much money in coaching. Second, however much patience you may have, you will still be teaching idiots how to figure skate properly. And third – how do you imagine sitting in the audience and watching them skate, once they get better, knowing you'll never be able to skate like that again not because you lack the skills, but because your body is freaking old! Coaching is only for stupid fools like Viktor and JJ, who are too lazy to get a degree."

Viktor sighed.

"We will talk again after you graduate from high-school, disrespectful brat. Eat more and talk less now."

Having had his final say, Yuri found himself agreeing with Viktor for a change, and was all too happy to readjust his attention to the pirozhki.

That was when Jean-Jacques decided to broach a certain subject, he believed he had to:

"By the way, I believe a thank you is in order. During our extended honeymoon, Isabella and I have been to many places, but we seldom had actual guides to show us around."

Yurio shrugged and continued chewing.

Viktor was about to reply, but JJ didn't give him the chance to.

"So... When are you two finally going to get married?" the Canadian exclaimed, completely offhand, if not entirely off-topic. Isabella kicked him under the table, but he paid her no mind, instead eyeing Yuuri and Viktor excitedly.

Simultaneously, Yuri Plisetsky nearly choked on his pirozhki and turned to observe the duo's reaction.

All blood had drained from Yuuri's face. Cold sweat covered his hands and back in an instant. He felt as though he was left emotionally and physically naked under the scrutiny of the entire restaurant with only one person, who could either save him or doom to pain and suffering.

Viktor Nikiforov, whose eyes had turned ominously pale.

"Not that it is any of your business, but we are getting married after Yuuri wins this year's Grand Prix Final. I keep my promises. I said we marry after Yuuri wins gold. We marry after Yuuri wins gold."

 _Viktor Nikiforov keeping promises?! Kill me now!_ Yurio was thinking while glaring at his fellow Russian. _And Katsudon is winning the Grand Prix Final over my dead body! This whole marriage crap was supposed to be over already! It will be, when I win, Yuuri!_

The teenager turned his glare over to Yuuri, but seeing his sickly, pained expression reduced his anger to ashes.

_Just what is going on here? Viktor, you idiot, and that moron JJ, what have you done to him?_

"I've got nothing against your marriage, but I'm planning on winning. Just like Yuri is, judging by his current expression, and just like you must be, Viktor. You realize you will be competing against marrying your fiancé?" JJ frowned, struggling to comprehend what the older skater's words implied.

"A student is bound to surpass his teacher. I've dedicated more than a year now to training Yuuri. It's time for him to blow everyone out of the water. This doesn't mean that I will make things easy for him as a competitor. Even an old man like me has some tricks left under his sleeve," Viktor declared, looking around dangerously.

JJ was nonplussed.

"I don't know why you just don't get married now, before the season starts. Why wait? Isabella and I couldn't. And what if I win this year? It's high time I did. You'll end up having to wait for a whole new year."

"No, we won't. Have you been listening to me at all? Yuuri Katsuki will win the Grand Prix. This is a given fact." Viktor's eyes were glinting with steel conviction and a silent, but no less stronger anger.

"Nothing is granted in figure skating, Viktor. My gold medal was supposed to be granted last season. I had the most elaborate choreographies. I was the only skater, who had qualified for the Final by winning gold after gold. I was the perfect age – 19, old enough to have experience, young enough to be in perfect skating shape. And I still failed. So, let's be realistic here. You are talking pure bullshit right now. I want very much to hear what Yuuri's got to say about all of this," JJ frowned and aimed a look at Yuuri, who suddenly seemed unnaturally preoccupied with finishing his glass of wine. His eyes were shut, and he was holding the glass with both hands, as if afraid he was going to drop it.

Viktor's eyes darted towards him with apprehension, bordering on fear, only to turn back to Jean-Jacques with doubled anger.

Meanwhile, Yuri Plisetsky was doing his best to make adequate deductions of all facial expressions and suppress his own exasperation at the awkward situation.

"JJ, I know you are not among the brightest people, but even you should know when not to poke your big nose into other people's affairs. What the fuck does it matter who's marrying who when anyway? I only know that I'll win the gold, so the rest of you should plan accordingly."

"Oh, so you are going to win?" Viktor eyed Yurio with a skeptically raised eyebrow while struggling to contain his wayward emotions.

"You'll see when I beat the shit out of you on the ice, Nikiforov," the teenager snapped. Glancing at his phone, he added, "Speaking of which, Yuuri and I are at the gym tomorrow morning. So, we'd better get going. Old Katsudon is pretty much useless when he's not gotten enough sleep."

From somewhere far away Yuuri heard the words Katsudon, useless, and sleep. His overloaded mind managed to connect the dots. He blinked several times and did his best to make his miserable expression look like a tired one instead.

JJ wasn't convinced. He did not want to give up the argument either. How had the dinner gone from fun to ruin so fast?

_I'm not having this. What's wrong here, and what did I say this time?!_

"You're not going anywhere, it's 9.30 p.m., for God's sake. And I still haven't gotten a clear answer about the wedding date. Yuuri?" he asked, looking at the Japanese discerningly.

"There's no planned wedding, no date, or anything else." How Yuuri managed to speak up while feeling he was about to suffocate was a mystery to him. His heart was about to burst when he realized the hidden meaning of his own words. _Or anything else… Yes, there's nothing between Viktor and me, by all objective standards, there's absolutely nothing but for the hollow words about a fictional wedding he keeps saying in front of people._

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I would like to go home." The words slipped his mouth mechanically, the product of an automated defensive instinct, which was making sure to get him out of public scrutiny before he broke down.

Uneasy glances followed, but no one tried to dissuade him. He took care of the bill and exited, with a concerned Yuri Plisetsky by his side. Viktor stayed behind with the offer to drive the couple back to their hotel. The rest of the dinner was short and silent.

"Jean-Jacques Leroy, you just couldn't be subtle and keep your tongue behind your teeth, could you?" Isabella finally scolded when Viktor dropped them off.

"But how could I have known the wedding was such a sensitive topic? Did you see Yuuri's face? I'm telling you, something is very wrong here, and we should have clarified it then and there. Not pretended that nothing happened."

"Whatever it is, it is between the two of them. Does the word private exist in your dictionary?"

"Isabella, they obviously haven't resolved their issues on their own, maybe they just can't and do need to talk about them to someone else?"

"So, what, are you a psychologist now, JJ?" Isabella grunted, shaking her head condemningly.

"But I just wanted to help! How do I end up messing everything up every time I go out with other skaters?!" the young man exclaimed, uncomprehending.

"Oh, my JJ. At least one thing is for certain – even you can't do worse the next time around," the woman smiled.

"Very encouraging," the skater snapped, frowning.

Isabella laughed and, embracing him tightly, lead him towards the hotel's night club to lighten both their spirits after the dinner turned awry.

...xXxXxXx…

The world around him seemed to be moving in slow motion. The sounds came to him like endless, unintelligible, stretched out wailings. The city lights were blinding him. He was stumbling forward, half-aware of the direction, wanting one thing only – to escape.

"YUURI!"

The cry broke through the fog, surrounding his senses. A pair of hands shook him firmly. Yuri Plisetsky's angry, but nonetheless concerned face crystallized in front of him.

"Stupid Katsudon, say something!" the teenager demanded.

 _Say something? What is there left to say?_ Yuuri thought as the evening's events assaulted his barely retained awareness self.

"I… feel terrible. But… there's nothing to worry about. It was nothing I hadn't seen coming…"

Yuri Plisetsky frowned, struggling to make sense of his friend's response. Having little success, he retorted:

"I don't give a fuck about your repulsive relations with Viktor, I only want you in top form on the ice tomorrow, do you understand?"

An expression of pure sorrow and pain plastered itself on Yuuri's face.

"What relations, we are more into the no-relations category right now," he said bitterly, tears forming in his eyes. The pain in his heart was doubled by a physical one, as a hand slapped him across his face. The feisty teenager gripped his jacket, pulling him close.

"Tomorrow. Top form. Do you understand?" the Russian hissed, almost menacingly.

As tears started rolling down Yuuri's cheeks, and he made no response, the teenager abruptly released him. His furious expression miraculously abated, slowly giving way to a fragile, painfully sincere, and delicate one.

The Russian punk was replaced by the Russian fairy.

A single word echoed in Yuuri's consciousness – "Agape".

A second later he found himself in the teenager's embrace.

"Don't let anything get to you," was said silently, but firmly by his ear. Yuuri squeezed Yurio's slender form, conveying his boundless surprise and gratitude in the gesture.

As Yuri Plisetsky released him, the teenager's face was already reverting to normal. With a frown, he took out a packet from his back.

"Take these pirozhki."

"But… You just bought them to…" Yuuri started, only to be immediately interrupted.

"You need them more than I do."

The Japanese took the packet silently. The two continued walking in the subway's direction. After they caught a train from Gostiny Dvor Station, Yurio declared:

"I am escorting you home."

"What? No, Yuri, let me save whatever dignity I've left. I can get home on my own, you know that the walk from either Vostanniya or Nevskogo Square Station to Viktor's apartment is short."

"Excuse me, but you still aren't nearly adequate enough."

While they argued, the train reached Ploschchad Aleksandra Nevskogo.

"I'm getting off. On my own." Yuuri said conclusively.

"Fine, stupid Katsudon, just make sure you get yourself sane and on time tomorrow to the gym, get that?"

"I will try," Yuuri answered with a wry smile and exited.

 _Try?! This is not good enough, Katsudon!_ Yurio scolded mentally, as he was left on his own to travel to Rybatskoye Microdistrict and a spacious house at the very bank of Neva River, he had never regarded as home.

...xXxXxXx…

Yuuri's hand was shaking. He was staring at a blank page of his diary, wondering just how he was supposed to pour months of pain into it. A poisonous drop of pain he had allowed to fester in his heart, gradually contaminate his blood with fear and despair, possess his mind with dreadful visions of the future, and slowly begin to eat away his very spirit.

He was on his way of putting the pen back on the desk when his hand decided to disobey him.

It pressed the pen to the paper, letting the ink form the words he was choking back.

_I've just cried a river._

_Don't ask me why, please don't, just don't. I have been blocking out all thoughts on this subject, everything, wiping the slate clean and… and living in the moment. Carpe diem, right? Whatever life offers to me, I will take it, without asking questions, delving too deeply into things, this is the motto I came up with after, or maybe even during the Grand Prix Final._

_But today, Barcelona hit me full force and I just couldn't and still cannot keep the pent-up emotions in anymore._

_I'll lay them here in black and white and hope they won't bother me until the situation is finally resolved._

_What situation?_

_The engagement situation, of course._

_It all started the day before the Grand Prix Final in Barcelona._

_When I suddenly realized that in two days the competition would be over, I felt lost._

_I had no idea where Viktor and I would go on from then on._

_In the beginning, he had said that he would train me for the GP. Nothing more, nothing less._

_A primal fear gripped my throat, suffocating me._

_Because I wanted him to never leave me and I wanted him to continue skating, and I damn well knew the two things were incompatible…_

_So, for Viktor's sake, I made a choice that after the Final we had to go our separate ways._

_I felt my heart being torn in pieces only at the thought of returning to a life without Viktor._

_But this mattered less than Viktor's happiness. Figure skating is his life. I had no right to take his career away._

_While we were walking the streets of Barcelona, I cherished every second with him. My eyes followed his every moment, my breath caught every time he moved closer, every time he put a hand around my shoulders or took my hand in his, my entire body went on fire. My heart was racing wildly, savoring every second of what could have been the last time I got to enjoy myself in Viktor's company._

_But as the day progressed dread started filling me. The moment of truth was drawing nearer and nearer._

_In my state of desperation, I decided to give Viktor something that he would wear every single day of his life. That would remind him of his awkward plump Japanese Katsudon (and somewhat enticing, I hoped), whom he brought from nothing to the GP Final. By wearing his present, in a way, Viktor would always have his Katsudon by his side._

_I had nearly given up hope of finding anything suitable when I caught sight of a lovely jewelry shop. A golden ring, beautiful in its simplicity, attracted my attention like a magnet._

_My exaltation was cut short when it dawned on me, I had no idea what size Viktor's finger was._

_I glimpsed at Viktor, who had been unnaturally quiet ever since we entered the shop and was watching me with an odd, spellbound look. With my horrendous bad luck though I noted his hands were in his coats' pockets._

_Awkwardly, I explained to the sales lady that the ring was for me and I had no idea what size my ring finger was._

_The plan – I would try several sizes and intentionally buy a bigger one, praying it would fit Viktor._

_And then, out of the blue, my skating idol had to exclaim that he adored the ring and wanted one too. He was grinning, his face – shining like a decorated Christmas tree. Or like the face of a child, who's just laid eyes on all the presents underneath one._

_Meanwhile, I wanted to sink into some hole and never be found again._

_He had just ruined my plan!_

_To make it worse, after we chose the sizes, he insisted on buying both rings!_

_I still can only guess how I managed to win the argument that followed, but, eventually, I ended up buying the rings._

_Afterward, so many mixed emotions were coursing through me that I can only vaguely remember how we ended up in front of the beautiful church Santa Maria del Mar. We exchanged looks quietly, reaching a wordless understanding._

_Each of us slipped a ring on the other's finger. I was so nervous that I could barely form a sentence._

_Not that it matters the slightest because Viktor's expression was one of pure, undiluted joy, which warmed my heart so much that… That it made me stop shedding tears moments ago because I would gladly relive everything that ensued afterward to be able to ogle this priceless happiness just one more time..._

_Oh, no, I'm helplessly lost in a post-breakdown romantic mood…_

_Well, it won't last long. Here's why – later that evening we found ourselves in a restaurant with the rest of the GP finalists, where Phichit, who always exaggerates everything and speaks before thinking, proclaimed for the whole restaurant to hear that we were married!_

_MARRIED!_

_VIKTOR AND I!_

_The yellow press must have made up one hell of… of… crazy stories about the two of us, for Phichit to blurt this out on the spot._

_And after I thought I was already shocked to death, Viktor blurted out in return that we would get married, after I won gold._

_I literally died at that moment._

_Viktor Nikiforov proclaimed he would marry me, without once having told me he loved me, he just stated it as though it was the most natural and self-evident thing in the world._

_What the hell?!_

_I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. The room, the faces, everything faded away, giving way to a comfortable darkness, which promised to save me from the impossible situation I found myself in._

_Well, King JJ the Great did the darkness' job and rescued me, by ruining everybody's mood with his swagger._

_Oh, I'd better not think about him right now…_

_Somehow I managed to get a hold of myself and shuffle my way to the hotel in Viktor's embrace._

_Viktor, who kept giving away pretty smiles and no answers._

_I didn't have the strength to ask anything._

_The following day, the dreadful silence continued._

_If you are still asking yourselves why I scored less than 100 points in the short program and collapsed on the ice after it, you've probably figured out what my answer would be._

_Viktor's declaration and his subsequent degradation of it by making it dependant on my performance against a group of top skaters and his eventual lack of any explanation for his actions spiked my anxiety._

_Had he made a bad joke last night? Or was he being serious? How serious could such a proposition be?! Did I want it to be serious?_

_I had no idea._

_While exchanging the rings, I had lived in the moment. Not cared about anything else than Viktor's joy. Some thoughts about what this act meant by old Japanese custom flashed in my mind, but I chose to ignore them in my quest to enjoy every moment I got to spend with Viktor._

_Besides, Viktor was Russian, he was supposed to take everything at face value due to the differing customs and not delve deeper, in a place, where I would be bound to him in secret forever…_

_People tend to make bold moves in dire situations, and that was my very own, very hidden bold move._

_I confess that on the way to the restaurant that night, these were my thoughts._

_I hadn't intended on buying two rings, or a ring at all, everything happened on the spur of the moment and was only the more beautiful, because of that._

_Until Viktor labeled it. The addition that it would be valid only if I won gold sounded just like the one time he threatened to leave me if I scored badly._

_Was this how love was supposed to be?_

_With all this pressure on me, I knew I couldn't count on myself to win 1_ _st_ _place with any certainty. This only made me feel worse, because… What if he just gave me back the ring and walked away, after I screwed up the free program?_

_So, I chose to make things easy for both of us._

_I followed up on my previous decision – to free Viktor from any responsibility towards me after the Grand Prix Final, including an engagement-like act, made in haste._

_It was written on his face how much he wanted to skate again, while he observed Yurio's record-breaking Agape._

_I couldn't compete for his heart against his love for ice skating, and nor was it the right thing to do._

_After all, if what we had was real, it would survive our separation as coach and trainee. The power of love is supposed to win. Always._

_I thought he would be relieved after we talked about my decision._

_He erupted in tears for the first time in front of me. Then he went mad at me or as close to doing that Viktor Nikiforov can get. He never loses his temper. Which is why his reaction shocked me._

_He grabbed me roughly, demanding to know how I could end my career and expect him to carry on._

_I could only gawk at him without a clue what to say, what to think, what to feel._

_His eyes had turned in stormy gray skies, seared by bolts of lightning._

_The following day, I skated to show him how much he'd given me, that his efforts hadn't been in vain, despite my upcoming resignation._

_And then, to my relief and utter joy, he agreed to be both my coach, and to continue skating!_

_At the time, I thought this would be the solution to all our problems._

_And maybe it was until the World Championships at the end of the season. Beforehand, I participated at the Four Continents Championships, winning an actual gold medal, which Viktor refused to kiss!_

_"_ _Without Jean-Jacques and the European skaters, the competition was far below your abilities, Yuuri," he teased, kissed my forehead instead of the medal and took me out to dinner in Gangneung, South Korea, where the competition was held._

_Not that I complain about it. Everything was as beautiful as it used to be before the GPF._

_Except for the looming engagement issue over us, we had never spoken of._

_And then we came back to Hasetsu. It was about a week after the Four Continents Championships when I received a Skype call from Phichit and… hell was unleashed. First, to my sheer shock, he blamed me for avoiding and ignoring him during the competition and, to a certain extent, ever since Barcelona. After I denied having intentionally distanced myself from him, his argumentation took a whole new turn. He still claimed that I had "turned asocial" (literal quote), but blamed Viktor for it._

_Just as I was about to enter a full-blown don't-you-dare-say-a-bad-thing-about-Viktor mode, he exclaimed that my relationship with Viktor had to be truly dysfunctional for him to have to warn everybody against discussing it in front of the media or talking about it with me._

_Naturally, I did not want to believe any of this. But it shook me too much, and I could not do so without any supporting proof. So, I made myself talk to my sister and Minako. To my horror, they confirmed. That the day after the Grand Prix banquet, Viktor had gathered in a room everyone who had heard about the engagement and warned them not to tell a word in front of the media about it or to bring it up in front of me. The two agreed on something else – that they had never thought Viktor Nikiforov capable of acting as threateningly._

_"_ _Our private life will stay private. For now, from anybody else," he had said, among other things._

_Neither Minako, nor Phichit, nor Mari had been happy with this and had wanted to talk to me about the engagement, regardless of Viktor's warning. Phichit actually would have, had Viktor not been so successful at snatching me away from anybody, who tried to talk to me during any public event after the Grand Prix ( an approximately accurate retelling of what Phichit claimed)._

_He could not have been more right._

_As I thought about it, I realized Viktor had been overly possessive of me since Barcelona._

_I had enjoyed every second of it, not even noticing I had neglected my friends and family in the process._

_Until, of course, Minako's and Mari's confirmation of Phichit's allegations hit me like a ton of bricks._

_So, Viktor could talk to other people about the engagement, but not to me!? And he wanted to keep it a secret – maybe because he regretted it?! Then why couldn't he just say so in my face? Hell, I can't imagine what that would feel like, I am utterly terrified by such a possibility, but then at least he would have spared me the entire post-Barcelona engagement anxiety and plain suffering!_

_But then – why did he have to mention anything to my parents afterward?! The talk they had with me right before I came to St. Petersburg was not only embarrassing as hell, but I also had to find out Viktor had been talking to them about us, as though we were a normal, healthy couple, about to get married!_

_We are everything, but normal!_

_After it was undoubtedly clear that Viktor had been talking to people about us behind my back, I couldn't help withdrawing from him. He, on the other hand, tried everything to pry out of me the reason for my sudden reclusiveness and moodiness. Unsuccessfully._

_I hoped he would figure out the reason on his own. After all, one can't simply confirm a non-existent engagement for a whole restaurant to hear, then forbid people to talk about it, not bring up the subject once in front of his supposed fiancé, turn possessive as hell, and assume his erratic behavior wouldn't have any repercussions._

_Well, Viktor is the exception to the rule. You know what he did after I turned sullen? He turned even more sullen and withdrawn than me._

_A little more than a week remained until the World Championships, and each training session was going worse than the previous one. I had nearly resigned myself and was trying to get comfortable with the very real possibility of not winning a medal. When Viktor simply… erupted._

_He went into some hyperactive mode, making me train non-stop, criticizing me non-stop…_

_The result of this madness was tears, bronze, more tears, and depression._

_Then I came here, to Saint Petersburg. Where he turned more withdrawn than ever._

_At least he is not in his crazy hyperactive mood… That was a lie, he does turn it on during training every now and then. With Yurio, he is like that 99% of the time._

_I can take it. For now, at least, I've somehow managed to._

_Yuri also mentioned there might be an extraneous reason, which has nothing to do with me._

_What I cannot take anymore is the engagement situation._

_Arggh, the whole drama ensues from the fact that I still have no idea whether Viktor gives a damn about the whole engagement thing at all!_

_And, to be honest, the very engagement itself scares me to death!_

_Our relationship… It… Was it like that?! Did Viktor mean it to be what he declared it to be in Barcelona?_

_We kissed once. Only one freaking time, when Viktor was overexcited and wanted to surprise me. And after I had been intentionally giving my best to play seductive._

_He is flirtatious by nature, and his relations with Christophe only solidify this._

_What if I'm just another Chris to him?!_

_For crying out loud, I had no idea I could be attracted to men before I met Viktor face to face!_

_And for crying out loud, I just confessed that I'm attracted to him._

_Shit._

_Well… Uhm… It is true. I bet the countless times I blush around him speak loudly enough._

_Maybe this whole diary will at least manage to clarify my thoughts on how I feel about Viktor…_

_Because my feelings never got clarified thoroughly enough in the first place and now they've been polluted by months of silence. Of distance between us._

_No._

_I am going to be honest with myself this time._

_I am writing it down once and for all._

_All facts point in this direction._

_I love Viktor Nikiforov. In every possible way. More than it is_ healthy to _._

_Much more than it's healthy to. Just take a look at me. I am a puffed teary mess. My reactions are uncontrollable. You might say that this is typical for me, but it's not. Even the notorious Yuuri Katsuki is not such a crybaby, not to this extent. I am overreacting, I know, but I can't help it._

_I love him, and I am terrified of what can happen to us._

_I can't and will not say a word about my feelings. What if he rejects me and ships me back to Hasetsu? I will not be the stupid Japanese Katsudon, who reads too much into restaurant jokes made in the heat of the moment!_

_I will not mention Barcelona or anything about the engagement. I will not do it. He is the one who should. He is the one who confirmed Phichit's ludicrous statement._

_If he never does… I will at least remain his student. Being nothing more than his student is still better than being nothing to him. However much it might hurt to be in my current situation, I will take it anytime to the prospect of not seeing Viktor ever again._

_Viktor... I am mad at you, know that. I love you, but you have no idea how angry I am at you right now. How can you tell anyone anytime that we are getting married, MARRIED, and act like nothing ever happened afterward?_

_Where are you now?_

_I can swear that you've already driven JJ and Isabella back to their hotel. I bet you did it hours ago._

_You simply don't want to come home. You don't want to be here with me. You made me come to Russia only to avoid me like the plague outside the rink and the gym._

_I know you won't say a word about what you claimed in front of Jean-Jacques tonight. I know it, and it makes me want to blow something up, burn something to the ground, or kill somebody. I was the one, who insisted we showed JJ and Isabella around town today. Neither Viktor nor Yuri wanted to. I made them, by insisting on how rude it would be not to. I wanted to see how Viktor would react if they dared to bring up our notorious engagement._

_I actually have to thank King JJ for being so obnoxiously intrusive. He provided an opportunity for me to witness first-hand Viktor talking about the engagement for the first time since Barcelona._

_Ahahahaha, now it seems I have to win gold if I am to marry him. ;D ;D ;D_

_Having a Grand Prix gold medal is Viktor Nikiforov's decision-making factor when it comes to choosing a partner in life, not love._

_Seriously, matters reached an all-time high on fucked-up-ness today._

_I don't know what to say._

_I am speechless…_

_To make matters worse, I have only 4 days left to come up with a choreography to "Gori, Gori, Moya Zvezda", and I have done nothing this far. Zero progress. Nada. Nichts. Rien. 何も Ничего._

_I start running my fingers through my hair anxiously, but then I stop because I fear I might pluck it off my head. My eyes focus on Yuri's pirozhki on my desk. Then they dart towards the half-empty vodka bottle on the floor._

_I grab it instantaneously._

_And laugh bitterly._

_Vodka, pirozhki, and an A1 Russian language certificate, quite the Russian I've turned into for two months._

_What for?_

_A doomed relationship?_

_I can feel anger gathering up inside me, and I stop myself barely from thrashing the bottle against the floor._

_I am not drinking again, nor am I eating a whole package of pirozhki in the middle of the night!_

_Seriously, I am disgusted with myself._

_How do I even imagine Viktor would want somebody like me?_

_Maybe he never has and never will. Maybe… But I do love him._

_And I will show him just how much before the end._

_I close my eyes and start listening to "Gori, Gori, Moya Zvezda" on my laptop…_

_…_

_You've no idea what just happened to me, and I've no time to explain. All I can say is that I see it. The choreography. I can see the moves, the jumps, everything in my mind. It's beautiful._

_I'm heading to a rink that's opened 24/7 right now._

_I have to nail this._

_It's now or never._

_Wish me luck._

_I do need it._


	7. Like Never Before

Like never before, Yakov Feltsman had canceled a training session of Yurio’s. In the last moment. Without explanation.

“Who gives a fuck about what’s gotten in that crazy old man’s head today? I care about the fact that there are three full hours until your training with Viktor, Katsudon, and I have to make good use of them! So, get your lazy ass here right now!”

Soon after this was shouted out at him on the phone, Yuuri Katsuki ended up freestyle skating with Russian Yuri, since neither one was in the right state of mind to even try performing his short program.

The young man was gliding on the ice to a piece of classical music, he was barely listening to. What he was listening to was a mean voice in his head, ridiculing him.

_“The deadline is tomorrow, and your pitiful free skate isn’t even ready. What is a choreography without a finishing touch, a final statement, or a full-blown thunderous end? A nothing.”_

Yuuri gritted his teeth. No, there was still time, he would think of something, he would, even if he had to lose sleep over the choreography again.

But what if Viktor disliked it, anyway? What if he hadn’t managed to properly convey his emotions in the skate? It was the first one he had ever created one on his own, how good could it be?

How would he deal with another rejection?

Yuuri suddenly felt his legs give up under an invisible pressure. He stopped abruptly, struggling to keep himself from losing balance.

Yurio emerged from behind, halting next to him.

“Tired already, Katsudon?” he admonished. “Seriously, you just set a new world record on worst and shortest figure skating.”

“I just can’t skate anymore right now,” Yuuri answered silently, gasping for breath, and cautiously made his way towards the rink’s exit.

Yurio was watching him with a frown. A part of him ached to ignore the dumb, soft pig, who’d been under the weather ever since that awful dinner with the even more awful JJ.

He was enraged at himself that he simply could not.

So, a moment later, he found himself next to the dumb pig, taking off his skates and trying to forcefully dissipate his anger.

_If I shout at the stupid Katsudon, things will only get worse…_

Meanwhile, Yuuri picked up his skates and wordlessly shuffled towards a bench. Yurio followed with pursed lips. He sat down next to the Japanese, who kept silent, his eyes looking hollowly forward.

 _What do I do with him in this condition?_ the teenager thought, still hating himself for his need to do anything to cheer up a stupid pig. The memory of embracing Yuuri and being nearly squeezed to death in return came to further irritate and embarrass him. He was grateful that Yuuri had never brought it up.

_Ah, Katsudon should be ashamed of himself, he was in need of a hug, I would have otherwise been forced to endure him crying on me!_

The Russian scowled. He still could only guess why Yuuri had reacted so emotionally that night. And why Viktor had ignored it all, opting to stay with the moron JJ rather than deal with his upset fiancé.

Yuri’s scowl intensified. He hated the ridiculous engagement thing and everything related to it. He was glad that Viktor and Yuuri had, of late, opted to restrain themselves from all disgusting activities couples do (like cuddling, holding hands, or, God forbid, kissing). The two hadn’t been glued to each other either, which had given the teenager the opportunity to get to know Yuuri better. Similarly to his stay in Hasetsu, when Yuuri and Viktor had known each other too shortly to develop a relationship, Yuri was able to spend quality time with the Japanese alone, only to keep rediscovering, slightly to his unease, how much not stupid, way not terrible at figure skating, not dull, not irritating, and even not fat Yuuri was. He would never admit the fact that he had definitely grown to like the no-longer-Katsudon-like Katsudon. However, one of the reasons for it was undoubtedly the lack of dumb lovers’ behavior between Viktor and him, which was why Yurio particularly loathed the re-emergence of the engagement, and even more the fact that it held such emotional power over Yuuri.

_Viktor is an ass. A complete ass. He is a terrible coach and an even worse fiancé to let his soft chubby Katsudon start turning depressive. When you get engaged to a soft chubby Katsudon, you must be ready to endure his softness and chubbiness and take it into account before saying dumb shit in front of dumb people. Hell, Viktor has turned terrible on all possible fronts! I can swear he’s never been that unbearable._

Yuri was not pleased to admit to himself that Viktor’s recent behavior seemed worse than both his cheesy, vomit-inducing lover’s one and his usual shallow, self-centered attitude.

Yes, Viktor Nikiforov could be more forgetful than an old lady, and his ego could turn the size of Mount Everest, but he was also resolute, determined, skilled to perfection. His iron discipline bordered on self-destruction. Yuri had seen him skate until nearly passing out on the ice.

_He is a legend! Not a gay boy, head over heels with some nerdy Japanese. And, by all means, not some commanding freak, who’s trying to teach me not to push myself too far on competitions by pushing me too far to master some losers’ skate!_

_Why the hell is he trying to teach me out of pushing myself too far, when I’ve seen him do the same to himself?! It’s not like it hasn’t worked well for him. The process is horrible, but the results are always worth the sacrifice._

_The gold is worth anything because it is the only thing of worth there is._

_Apart from dedushka, of course. But he doesn’t require any sacrifice. He doesn’t have to be won. He’s always there for me…_

_That’s exactly Yuri’s problem. Viktor isn’t there for him, and Katsudon wants that more than he wants the gold. Stupid pig! Viktor is like me, in the end, he’s all for the win. Between us, we have skating, a grandfather, and a dog, the latter two being almost zero maintenance. Katsudon just doesn’t fit in Viktor Nikiforov’s life. On the other hand, Katsudon himself has all those annoying relatives, friends and a dead pet that keep messing with his life. And now, he wants to start a new family, as if his existing one isn’t enough to deal with._

_His dog dies, and he messes up the Grand Prix Final._

_What if this year, his parents decide they’re too old to run the onsen and ask him and his sister to take over for them?_

_What then? Adios, skating career?_

_Family is first for the fat pig. He’ll never win with this mentality; he doesn’t care enough to win. What if Viktor just breaks up with him? Won’t be a surprise with the way things are going. Katsudon will be a ruin!_

“You are stupid, you know that?” Yuri proclaimed offhand, finally letting his frustration run free.

 

 ...xXxXxXx…

 

Yuuri stirred stiffly. Had Yurio just said something?

“What?” he managed, barely audibly, still staring blindly into the distance.

Yuri Plisetsky took a seat on the ground in front of the Japanese.

“YOU ARE STUPID,” he shouted out with a finger pointed at Yuuri, eyes blazing.

“Ah. But that’s nothing new under the sun. Hardly a reason to get so excited about.” 

“Oh, there is a reason, alright. I’ve just found out why you are so stupid. And it makes me sick!”

“Care to share?” Yuuri asked, his monotonous tone suggesting he barely cared, responding only to indulge his friend. 

“You care about people. But people only care for themselves. And who can blame them?!”

Expecting a pile of insults rather than actual truths about himself, Yuuri was surprised enough to turn his full attention to the conversation.

“But that last bit isn’t true, Yuri!” the Japanese exclaimed with conviction. “Or at least isn’t supposed to be,” he added with a sudden melancholy.

“I don’t know how anything is supposed to be, I only care about how things are. Wonder why Viktor is giving you the cold shoulder? Maybe because you’re his adversary now, and he has a Grand Prix to win! You’d better start doing the same yourself.”

A frown formed on Yuuri’s forehead.

“You’re wrong. He might be a rival, but he’s my coach, too. If he wanted to win so badly, he wouldn’t be doing his best to train me.”

“But he isn’t doing his best, is he? If he were, you’d already have a completed free skate! He also delayed revealing our short programs, in case you’ve forgotten!”

“The free skate is not his fault. I’ve had trouble picking up the music and…” Yuuri started mumbling, unsure what to say to Yuri’s unnerving accusations.

_Unnerving? No, preposterous! What are you thinking, Katsuki, Viktor is still doing… relatively okay as a coach, right? Of course, terribly with everything that goes beyond that, but that’s not what Yurio is ranting about!_

In the meantime, Yurio was getting more and more on the offensive.

“You’ve had trouble choosing a song?! You think that’s a plausible excuse for not having a finished skate this late? If Viktor cared at all, he’d have…”

“Shut up!” Yuri shouted out, surprised by the loudness of his voice. “That’s enough. You can throw insults at me all you want, but I’m not having you offend Viktor in front of me anymore.

Viktor doesn’t need foul play to win, and he’d never do such a thing, you know that. So if that’s what you are implying…”

Realizing he had got carried away with his accusations, Yurio supplied in a milder tone:

“All I’m saying is that from what I see, Viktor’s 1st priority must be his own preparation for the season. He may be too dumb to realize it himself, but look at all our training sessions together this summer – disaster after disaster. His severe case of June doucheness can’t be the only thing to blame for it.”

“My slow progress isn’t Viktor’s fault. It’s just that… my technical performance has been… lacking, for some reason. But I’m getting back in shape with your help!” Yuuri knew precisely the reason behind his underwhelming skating in St. Petersburg. That didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it.

Yurio cast him a discerning look.

“Yuuri, I don’t see Viktor tying your skates and holding your hand during this season’s Grand Prix. Unless you can get by without all this bullshit on top of the dysfunctional training, get Yakov to secure you a decent coach with his connections. The crazy old man is decent enough, too, but his schedule is the tightest around here. And seeing how he’s started to unexpectedly call off training sessions…” the teenager added disapprovingly.

“I am not getting a new coach. Can you just stop already?” Yuuri said exhaustedly, rubbing his forehead. He had enough worries already to take Yurio’s latest rant against Viktor seriously despite the fact that it was unlike any other and came close to the truth at times. His headache due to lack of sleep wasn’t helping.

 “No, can’t! Look at yourself, Katsudon! I’m still calling you a pig occasionally, but you look more like a ghost now. Just stop giving a shit about others already! And by others, I mean first and foremost Viktor. He’s no good for you. Except as a role model on what an arse you have to become in order to keep winning the Grand Prix.”

“But I love him, Yuri,” Japanese Yuuri answered simply. “And he is a good man, I believe that.”

“Oh my God, this is pointless!” a frustrated Yurio shouted out. “You love him, you say?! Then unlove him!” the Russian scoffed.

“I don’t think I can. Or want to at all. I’ve loved him for years, you know. Long before I met him. I’ve read every newspaper article on him, watched his every live performance. Viktor Nikiforov. I thought I knew everything about him. Now I think I know nothing. And he doesn’t want to shed any light on his enigmatic persona.”

“Enigmatic? I’d say mentally unstable,” Yurio grunted. “His June moodiness is out of control. And so is your post-JJ-dinner depression.”

“I am not depressed. Just… slightly unhappy?” 

Yurio shook his head.

“This has to stop, Katsudon! What the hell did Viktor say that night that turned you into a moping spineless mess?”

“I’ll tell you why I cried that evening if you tell me why Oizys makes you cry,” Yuuri declared bluntly.

“What?! I don’t cry, I… Just get lost!”

“Yeah, of course, tears run down your cheeks and your voice cracks, but who said that was crying?” Yuuri continued boldly, using Yurio’s one-time advice to answer fire with fire.

“You know what??! Screw you, Katsudon! Continue being a moping mess, a backstabber like you deserves no better,” the Russian snapped and stood up.

“Yuri, don’t go.”

The unexpected plea and its sincerity managed to halt the teenager, if only temporarily.

“Tell me one reason why I shouldn’t.”

“Because I am a moping mess and I need you to take my mind off of things,” Yuuri confessed with his head bowed down.

“Not thinking about your problems won’t solve them.” _But at least you’ve finally admitted you have problems._

“Thinking about them won’t either. I still hope you’d share with me what you think about to get yourself in the Oizys mood.”

“No, I won’t. What is your deal with it anyway?”

“You’re my friend. Trying to help you. What do you get if I tell you about my love problems?” Yuuri countered.

“A strong urge to vomit and, possibly, a hard-earned Grand Prix gold, in a heated tournament against actual skaters, not depressed mopers. Sharing is supposed to help people deal with stuff, right?”

“Yes, it is. So, tell me about Oizys. And why your grandfather raised you. What about your parents?” Yuuri took again to shooting out sensitive questions. Once, to avoid being asked sensitive questions himself. And because, however small it was, there was a chance that Yuri Plisetsky might decide to share something with him.

“Dammit! You aren’t giving up, are you?” the teenager asked angrily. Suddenly, an unnerving thought crossed his mind.

_What if he knows everything, the way he’s asking questions about my family? What if Yakov has told Viktor, and Viktor has… No! I threatened the old man that if he said a word to anybody, I’d quit skating. Or at least ditch him as my coach. And why would he mention a thing, anyway? Chubby piggy is just making wild guesses, trying to get away from answering my questions._

“Alrighty, Katsudon, why grandad raised me. It’s very simple. My parents weren’t around much, had to work, and go to university. That explains things, eh? Looking a little too hard for drama, aren’t you?” 

Pleased with his masterful omission of facts, Russian Yuri added smugly: “Your turn now. Tell me all about your disgusting love problems.”

“They won’t make any sense to you. Frankly, they don’t make sense at all,” Yuuri said with a slight note of anger.

“I am inclined to believe that. Still, trying won’t hurt.” _Well, it probably will, but still…_

“No offense, but what do you know about relationships, Yuri, what? I can’t talk to you about this.”

 _What do you think you know about my experience with relationships, stupid pig?!_ Yurio thought, his anger growing.

“Actually, I do know a thing about relationships. Of any kind. One: that they are not worth it, because people are selfish in general. Two: that sometimes the other side doesn’t care about you much and is just as much aware of that, only faints some vague interest out of some selfish reason. Any of it sound familiar?”

“No,” Yuuri said firmly, before he sighed and continued. “I just can’t deal with it right now. I told you – I love him. That can’t change overnight, and I don’t want to give it up either. Not yet.”

Yurio shook his head disapprovingly.

“If you don’t get your shit together now, you’re risking your entire season.”

“But I’m doing my best to win, you know. How do I marry Viktor with anything less than Grand Prix gold?” the Japanese countered bitterly.

“Damn, this is fucked up. I don’t really know why I’m even trying to make any sense of it. You were right, Katsudon. Your problems are more insane than disgusting.”

Yuuri managed a smile. “I appreciate you trying. It’s good to know that somebody cares.”

“I am not your friend, you know. Heard my opinion on relationships, right?”

“Well, I’m glad to have you, non-friend, nonetheless. And not all people are evil, you know.”

“I am,” Yurio shrugged. 

“You’re not evil, stubborn is what you are. And thick-headed.”

“At least I’m not fat,” the Russian retorted.

“Nor am I.”

“I keep forgetting. And you look like you keep forgetting to eat. And this dumb conversation got us nowhere.”

“Agreed. No information wrung out of either of us. I think we’re both stubborn and thick-headed… But, actually, Yuri… You surprised me today,” Yuuri said, casting an appreciative look at his companion.

“With my brilliant foul language?” the Russian remarked mockingly.

“With your honesty. You are more mature than you let on. You are so much more than you let on. I knew that, but seeing evidence of it is something else. I hope I get to find out much more about who you truly are.”

“I don’t, you won’t, who said I was honest, and you are making some wild guesses again! You shouldn’t trust people. And you have to stop believing the best about everybody. Viktor, for instance. You said you’d read all the ‘papers about him. And you believe them?”

“Well, yes, I… But Yuri, stop changing the topic when it suits you!” the Japanese answered, irritated.

“I’m changing the topic when it suits me? That’s what you’ve been doing all along!”

“Fine, maybe. You win. What about Viktor?” _He can’t even take praise, alright. At least let’s find out what he meant about the articles and interviews._

“So, you said you believed all the nice tales he’s told the media. About himself. About his life. His family… Truth be told, I haven’t seen in person a single member of the family he loves talking about so much. Yes, his sister has appeared live with him a few times, and there are photos of his entire family in his apartment, but…  If they love him so much, why don’t they come to visit? There’s no way some of them have been here, at the rink, without me hearing of it or meeting them. I’ve been here almost every day for the past couple of years. So, I’m hardly the only one with an estranged family around here. You know, there’s one true thing JJ said that night – there’s a price to pay if you want to be the best.”

Yuuri wished he had some information to contradict his namesake’s points, but he hadn’t. The previous year, Viktor had spent his birthday, Christmas, and New Year with him. Any questions about his family he had dodged. Yuuri hadn’t even heard him talk on the phone with them. So, just how much of all he had read and heard about Viktor was true?

“I can see you’re not happy to hear what I told you just now. Half of the things he says on TV are fake or exaggerated, Yuuri, because he doesn’t have much to say. He trains. Eats. And then he trains again. That’s what he does. Every day I came to the rink, he was already there. That’s how I knew what I had to do if I wanted to be a champion like him. Skate, and let nothing else matter more. You do that, Yuuri, and you’ll have your Grand Prix gold. But I doubt marrying Viktor will matter as much then. In any case, no more than winning your next gold will.”

“I don’t believe you. I don’t, because I tried it. In Detroit. I skated. With no friends, without seeing my family for years. I failed. The silver I won with the support of everybody,” Yuuri countered heatedly.

“It wasn’t gold, though, was it? As for Detroit, and Sochi, you screwed up big time, yeah. You weren’t strong enough then. The question is – are you now? Because Viktor is competing for the gold again. You can marry him, but will that change a thing?  If he wanted you more than the skating and the gold, he’d have stayed retired. On the upside for you, he is old already, and he will have to retire soon, whether he likes it or not. Until then, the best you can do with your life is have a career.”

“It doesn’t have to be the one or the other.”

 _I told you, Yuuri, I don’t care about the what-should-be or has-to-be. I deal with the real world, as fucked up and crappy as it always has been!_ Yurio thought with exasperation.

“You see Viktor bringing you freaking flowers, or doing anything else disgusting, you tell me. But mind my word, it isn’t happening now. What are the chances that things will turn around? In comparison, what are the chances you’ll mess up the season and have no Viktor to marry at all?”

Making a small pause to gather his thoughts, the teenager continued in a calmer, but no less determined tone:

“You see, I wanted to invite you to grab some Katsudon tonight. But Katsudon and pirozhki can only do as much. There comes a time when you just have to crush your problems. Otherwise, they crush you. And time is running out for you, Yuuri. Think about that.”

With that, Yuri Plisetsky turned on his heel and left the ice rink.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

Huddled in a ball, hugging his knees on a bench at the most famous ice rink in Saint Petersburg was Yuuri Katsuki.

Alone. Battling despair.

_Battling? Feels more like drowning in it… What do you do when everything you can do can’t make things right?_

_You do everything you can, and then… Sink alongside the ship. Drown._

_Seems like I have to hold on a little more before I drown._

_If drowning is what it’s going to be, at least let’s do a proper swan song before it!_

With this thought, Yuuri took his skates and aimed back for the ice.

Putting “Gori, Gori Moya Zvezda” on, he started gliding forward, gathering all the determination he had left.

However, with every move, his grace was fading away. The spins were growing uneven and sloppy. The quadruple jumps were turning into double.

Breathing hard, Yuuri halted halfway through the skate. He rushed to the hi-fi system and stopped the song, not wanting to hear it out.

Then he sat down, slumped, on the floor of the ice rink’s entrance, not even bothering to remove his skates.

_I won’t make it. I won’t. I can’t concentrate. My body is shaking. My mind is a mess. My heart and my will are as good as broken. One day to the deadline, and not only do I have an unfinished program, but I can’t even skate it remotely OK, too._

_And I just can’t take this. God, I can’t fail now, I can’t, I can’t…_

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

Viktor Nikiforov entered the ice rink, his face set in determination. Putting his silver skates on with finesse, he energetically made his way to the ice… Only to stop in his tracks, surprised.

“Yuuuuri?! What are you doing here so early?”

The small huddled figure blocking Viktor’s way jumped to its feet just as startled.

“V-viktor?! What are you doing here?”

“Ah, well, Yurio’s training session got canceled. I thought I could make good use of the rink.”

Viktor narrowed his eyes. “You OK? You seem a little… I don’t know… Anyway, why are you here at this time? I did ask you first.”

“Yurio made me come to train with him. And then left – wasn’t pleased with the… training. He was angry at Yakov. Any idea why he canceled his training?”

Viktor’s face grew solemn for a second before he had the chance to cover it up with a neutral expression.

“Something personal came up. Even old Yakov has a personal life, you know. Who would guess with the crazy amount of time he spends on his hopeless students,” Viktor smiled with a touch of melancholy. “Well, at least my practice session with him later is still going as planned,” he added light-heartedly after clearing his voice.

“But everything’s alright?” Yuuri asked, concerned by Viktor’s behavior.

“Even if it isn’t, it’s Yakov’s personal life, which I’m not discussing just like that,” Viktor snapped. Immediately regretting the sharpness of the statement, he added in a much lighter and friendlier tone, with a slightly anxious smile on his face, “Want to start early today, Yuuri? I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Yuuri followed Viktor, who skated enthusiastically to the hi-fi.

“A surprise?” he wondered, growing uneasy.

“I’ve figured out your free program! I have everything – the music, the choreography… You are welcome to alter it, if something doesn’t feel right for you, of course…. But I really hope you like it!”

Viktor pulled out his phone, beginning to search for the music of the new skate.

“It all happened so quickly, and the choreography is not quite polished. And, uhm, I actually came here to practice it a little bit before I show it to you. Not being able to skate my student’s program perfectly… Rather embarrassing for me. But I finished it just yesterday. Don’t be bothered if I make some mistakes, alright? It is supposed to look better than whatever I’ll manage to show you… You see, I… Oh, where’s that song?! I did download it!!”

“Viktor…”

“Ah, no problem, I’ve just found it.”

“Viktor…”

“Yes, it’s a classical piece, nothing modern, but you will own it!”

“But, Viktor, you…”

“I know, I’m so embarrassed, Yuuri, but I have to show it to you today, no matter how terribly I skate it. We don’t have time to lose. You press play, when I get to the middle of the rink, OK?”

“Viktor, stop and listen to me!”

The Russian held in his tracks, a frown forming on his face.

“What’s wrong?” he said through pursed lips, his anxious enthusiasm giving way to uncertainty and doubt.

“The deadline. It’s tomorrow. I’ve got time until tomorrow to come up with a song.”

“And you think you will? That’s not very probable. Care to hear at least the one I picked up for you?”

“I picked one already. "Gori, Gori, Moya Zvezda.”

The blood drained from Viktor’s face.

“We talked about this, we agreed…”

“No, we did not agree. You told me what to do, completely ignoring my opinion. I have a song. And… I nearly have a finished skate.”

_You choreographed a skate? Your first skate? You did?! In a week?! Without telling me a word about it! To “Gori, Gori, Moya Zvezda”, of all songs!_

Viktor’s expression was unreadable again.

“Then, by all means, unfinished or not, let’s see it.”

Yuuri froze in his tracks. _See it? Here? Now?_

He swallowed. “Press play when I reach the middle of the rink. The Anna German version.”

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

_Viktor. Maybe we were never meant to be. If this is right, then faith and destiny be damned. Because here and now, I will do my best to make this work. To make us work. I believe in us. But I need you to believe it, too._

_Oh, who am I kidding again? If you don’t love me, there’s nothing I can do about it._

_So, I will keep loving you, no matter how much it hurts. You are my star. I want you to see just how wonderful you are and what you truly mean to me, love. Watch me. I will not fail you._

“One, two, three…”

_Drums! Dynamics. Then gliding into the melody and… Camel spin. Guitar. Curtsy to my star, Viktor…_

“Gori, gori...” _I know you will, love, this step sequence is supposed to represent your light._            

“Ty u menya…” _The triple Axel! I landed it!_

“Drugoy ne budet nikogda.” _I’ll never love anybody else!_

_Violins. Jumping and spinning, spinning without a way out. Caged by love, yes…_

“Zvezda lyubvi, zvezda volshebnaya,…” _How could I not be captivated by such a bright star?_

“Zvezda moikh minuvshikh dney.” _Though how long do I have left by your side, Viktor?_

“Ty budesh vechno neizmennaya” _Quad Salchow and flying sit spin, done._

“V dushei izmuchenoi moyei.” _You are giving me the strength to carry on even while you’re hurting me, Viktor._

_The violins again – oh, no! The vertigo is back, my lack of sleep... Viktor, love… God, his face is hard as stone!_

_No! Just a double-single combination! I’m ruining everything. Or have I already?! Viktor, the way you’re looking at me… is frightening!_

_But I have to show you!_

“Luchei tvoikh neyasnoy siloyu” _That you are my everything!_

“Vsya zhizn moya ozarena.” _Triple Lutz, triple toe. I can barely breathe._ _But with or without me…_

“Umru li ya,…” _The quad flip!_ _You see, Viktor? Oh, your face is the same… Wait, was that a tear?_

“…ty nad mogiloyu” _You are crying? Oh, looks like I am crying, too!_

“Gori, siyay, moya zvezda!” _But you shouldn’t, Viktor! With or without me, love, don’t cry, shine!_

_Ah, that pain…! No, I’m losing control of the spin…_

 ...xXxXxXx…

 

“YUUURI!”

Viktor Nikiforov’s desolate cry echoed over the music as his student fell to the ground.

In a split-second, he found himself next to the young man.

“Yuuri, are you…”

He stopped in the middle of the sentence. Yuuri Katsuki was lying on the ice, eyes closed, unresponsive. 

Viktor gave out an uncontrolled choking sound.

“Yuuri?!”

Meanwhile, “Umru li yaa” was sounding from the hi-fi.

“No!” the Russian breathed, feeling his breath knocked out of his lungs.

Reining his panic as much as he could, he picked up Yuuri, who proved surprisingly light, and carried him out of the rink.

After getting rid of his skates, he brought his student to a bench and put him in his lap, gently supporting his upper torso and head.

“Yuuri, baby, hear me, it’s me, I’m here, wake up!” Tears sprung freely from Viktor’s clouded eyes, as he rocked the other man, gripped by mind-boggling and heart-wrenching horror.

“Baby, please, please, come back to me!” he begged, his voice cracking.

As Yuuri continued lying motionless, Viktor struggled to think.

“You can’t… You can’t leave me! What do I do, what do I do…” _What can I do? I need help. Phone! No! Yes, yes, it’s alright, I left it on the hi-fi stand, but I can get it from outside the rink, too…_

_God help me, I’m such an idiot, I should have done this straight away!_

“Yuuri, I can’t lose you! I’ll be right back!”

As he said those words, his voice nearly deadened by fear, the young man in his arms shifted.

“Yuuri?! Baby?!”

Viktor was certain what he thought he had just seen and felt couldn’t be trusted, but he hoped otherwise.

Then two chestnut eyes fluttered open.

“Baby!” the Russian cried out. “God, you are alright!”

Taking fast rigged breaths, Viktor leaned towards Yuuri so that their cheeks could touch. This wasn’t nearly enough to banish his lingering fear or express his sudden joy, so he kissed the cheek gently and continued down the smooth neck, pressing kiss after kiss.

The man in his arms began shivering.

“I’m here, baby, relax, it’s over,” Viktor was chanting, as he ran a hand gently through Yuuri’s hair before letting their lips briefly touch.

The young man jumped in Viktor’s lap.

“Viktor, please, stop…” he said with effort, feeling that he was suffocating during the kisses, caresses, softly spoken words, which were supposed to calm him.

The Russian halted, trying to order his scattered thoughts.

“You were amazing, wonderful, brilliant!” He planted a kiss on Yuuri’s forehead, who shivered at the sensation. He wasn’t sure he could fully comprehend what was happening. Nor he could take the unexpected and inexplicable physical affection.

“Baby, relax, I’m holding you. I’m holding you… And I am so sorry, for what I said last week about the song. You blew my mind, today, do you understand, zvezda moya? Do you know what you just did?”

Yuuri shook his head slowly. 

“I don’t, Viktor, please, I…”

He tried to move himself off from Viktor, but his effort turned futile as his wobbly limbs disobeyed him.

Abruptly, Viktor’s face turned grave.

“Oh my God, are you in pain? I was about to call an ambulance… Yes, I’ll do it, you need to get a full examination!”

“What? No! I’m fine…” Yuuri protested.

“You fainted and you fell! God knows what’s the cause and what…”

Yuuri’s head began to hurt at the Russian’s distressed raised tone.

“Please, Viktor, don’t shout, don’t do anything, just stay here…”

“Baby, I’ll only get my phone, OK? I’m not leaving you!”

“I’m alright! No need for ambulances or doctors. I just haven’t eaten and slept. It’s no big deal…” Yuuri argued, abashed and confounded by the way Viktor was addressing him, talking to him.

“What?! You have neither eaten nor slept? Why? Yuuri, be honest with me, what’s going on?”

“God, just stop talking for a second!” the younger skater pleaded before nestling his face in the crook of Viktor’s neck – something he was fazed to do but hoped would nonetheless calm both him and his overly concerned coach.

For Viktor, it worked like a charm. The Russian engulfed his student with his hands for a short while, then took to gently massaging his back, taking comfort in the gestures, but, unbeknownst to him, causing further discomfort to the person he wished to soothe.

 _This is too much… Too sudden, too much, too unreal,_ was whirling in Yuuri’s head, who was struggling not to fidget.

All of a sudden, Viktor started frantically running his hands all over Yuuri, touching his back, his abdomen, his thighs…

“Stop! What are you doing?” Yuuri squealed while struggling to wriggle out of Viktor’s grasp.

“Half of your weight is gone! You are all bones!” Viktor exclaimed fiery, not loosening his grip.

“Yuuri, look at me! How did this happen?” he continued, his voice and face warning that he was not to be crossed.

As two sad chestnut eyes peered at him, still dazzled and dizzy, his anger was melted down, nearly turning to tears. He looked away.

“Just what kind of a coach am I, to let this happen?  All of it, the weight, the fall… The song. You were so beautiful and so sad, and I keep blabbering because I have no words to express what I feel.”

Taking a deep breath, he added:

“I’m bringing you home. We will rest, we will talk, have something to eat. I will take better care of you, my…” An uncertain pause. “Yuuri,” the Russian added quickly. “A short trip to the hospital is unavoidable, though.”

“No,” the Japanese shook his head.

“Yuuri, we have to, it’s for the best…” Viktor started but halted at the increase of Yuuri’s slight trembling, which had returned a while ago. “Baby, don’t worry about it, we’ll be back home before you know it.”

“Viktor, let me go.”

“What?!” Viktor felt a chill passing through his body, rendering him numb.

The Japanese removed Viktor’s suddenly loosened hands from him, and successfully moved out of the other skater’s lap and onto the bench.

“Hunger and exhaustion are the symptoms of forgetting that you’re man, not machine. The cure – eat and sleep. So no hospitals, and you’re not coming, you have to train with Yakov later,” Yuuri said while massaging his forehead so that he could not look Viktor in the eye.

“Training?! I’m not training under these circumstances! We’re going home. And to the hospital first thing In the morning, if not now,” the Russian frowned. His injured Yuuri was slipping away from him with feeble excuses, and he was having none of it. Why was he doing that?!

“Viktor, calm down. All I want to do now is sleep. There’s no need to cancel your training session to… Watch me sleep? It’s ridiculous.”

_Why are you so eager to… get rid of me?! But…! It’s me…_

The older man’s anger and hurt were mingling together with the anger dissolving and producing even more hurt.

“Yuuri, the least I can do is drive you home, and put you to bed.”

It was more of a plea than a statement.

“I am not a child…”

The Japanese was interrupted by a door to the rink being opened.

The face of Georgi Popovich came out of it, obviously scanning the room for somebody. Or maybe anybody?

“Viktor, Yuuri!” he soon exclaimed and entered, making his way towards the two.

Viktor’s face was openly revealing murderous intent just because of the young man’s interruption of his conversation with Yuuri.

“Ah, hello. You’re not in the middle something of something important…?” Georgi remarked as he took notice of the duo’s tense facial expressions.

“Yes, we are, and the sooner you leave, the faster we’ll return to it. So, what’s up?”

“Viktor Nikiforov, friendly as ever,” Georgi said silently in Russian, more to himself than anyone else. “I’ve been looking for the Coach,” he continued more loudly in English. “He isn’t picking up his phone. He never does that, you know. Is he here?”

“He won’t be back before 16.30,” came Viktor’s clipped response. In Russian. With Georgi’s spoken English being far from the best, using their mother tongue would get matters settled much more quickly.

“I see. Well, then it’ll have to wait until tomorrow, I guess… There’s nothing wrong, right? It’s just not like Coach Yakov not to pick up or not to be around the rink.”

“He’s not some call center, open 24/7. He doesn’t have to be here when he’s not teaching anyone, either,” Viktor snapped.

“I’m not saying he has to. And I appreciate him for it, we all do, Viktor, no need to get defensive on his account.”

“Whatever. Now go, and close the door behind you.”

Georgi furrowed his brow.

“Everything OK, Yuuri?

“Yes. Now go.”

“Last time I checked, your name wasn’t Yuuri,” the tall black-haired man glowered at Viktor, switching to Russian again.

“As a matter of fact, I was just leaving, too, Georgi.”

“Yuuri…! We’re leaving together!”

“We’ve been over this already,” the Japanese sighed tiredly.

Quickly assessing the situation, Viktor gritted his teeth and aimed a look at Georgi.

“That old mess of a car you have is still serviceable?”

“I’ve been driving a new one for nearly two years, but it’s not like you to notice such things, is it?”

“Well, is this new car actually new and serviceable?”

“It’s no silvery Mercedes S-Class, but it’s still a great car.”

For the duration of the bickering in Russian, Yuuri just shook his head in disappointment at what he understood.

“In this case, you’re driving Yuuri home. He had an accident today, and I’m worrying about him here,” Viktor explained, his gaze softening immediately.

“Oh, you did? Of course I’ll drive you! No problem!” Georgi reassured the Japanese with a sympathetic look.

“Have a rest, you hear me?” Viktor said softly, his eyes vulnerable, broadcasting how helpless he felt.

Touched by it, and unsettled by feelings of guilt and longing, Yuuri intertwined his fingers with Viktor. Their golden rings glinted in the afternoon sun.

“Viktor, the choreography?” Yuuri asked, just before exiting.

“Is the best thing that’s ever been done on ice. You skated like never before.”

The compliment and the accompanying unique Saint-Petersburgishly melancholic smile would have nailed Yuuri in one place, had he not hurried to get out before his sleepy mind could fully comprehend the situation.

The young man walked next to Georgi in silence, unable to deal with his conflicting emotions.

_I had to leave. I can’t have everything today and return back to “normal” tomorrow. I won’t have it if it’s only because I messed up the skate and hit my head! He’s treating me like a child!_

_When not trying to kiss me, that is…_

The memory covered Yuuri’s body in goosebumps.

_I want him so much, but not like this! Even I have some dignity, even stupid me, with "Gori, Gori, Moya Zvezda", the crying, and the drinking!_

_I love you, Viktor, but I can’t trust you anymore. And you need your training._

Meanwhile, Viktor Nikiforov sat on a bench quietly, hunched forward, face buried in his hands…


	8. The Way Beyond the Top

AKA the Prima Ballerina and the Eisenkaiser on Ice

 

"Compensating for not being fat anymore by growing more stupid, are you?"

"Nothing you say will change my mind."

"Right. So your idea of fun is having nuts Yakov yell at you in Russian, Viktor and Georgi skulking and sabotaging your training, and a group of little animals making you do quads of their favorite jumps."

"Yakov is still acting oddly?"

"Yep, old Yakov has finally lost it. I've always said he was crazy, but right now he's in a perpetual state of switching between being off his rocker and being off the deep end. He eats people's heads off for breakfast ever since he canceled that morning training of mine. Twisted by the Dark Side, old Yakov has become," Yurio declared in a solemn Yoda impersonation.

"What about Viktor and Georgi…?"

"You know how Viktor is these days, and he loathes group training in general, so imagine his attitude towards the mixed group one. On Georgi – he seems to have suddenly caught his own case of June doucheness, no one knows why. Those two, in a foul mood, in one room is like throwing dynamite in a burning fire."

"Then, by all means, I've made the right decision to attend Yakov's group training sessions, for once. Viktor changed drastically when we moved to town. Something is rotten here, and the issue is at the heart."  _Or maybe not, but this old theory of mine is worth investigating._

"Yakov's a Sith Lord, I knew it!" Yuri mocked. "But tell me again, why drag this annoying helpless fluffy thing to a Sith lair?"

Two joyous barks sounded in the street.

"Makkachin is here for moral support. He's my only friend in Saint Petersburg, I've spent more time with him than I have with Viktor recently," Yuuri explained, pressing the cuddly poodle closer to his chest.

"You call this thing a friend?" Yuri threw Makkachin a disparaging look.

"I'd have added you to the list, but you already declared yourself a non-friend."

"That's right," Yurio confirmed and held his head higher up.

"So, how many were the children Yakov trains?"

"Your memory is as good as Viktor's, Katsudon," the teenager rolled his eyes. "3 little animals in total. Two female, one male. Aged 10-14. The two younger beasties Yakov teaches only part-time."

"You call them little beasts now, but not too long ago you were part of them yourself, Yuri," the Japanese smiled.

"Don't remind me. When I was a junior, I could hardly wait for the one training session with the seniors every two weeks. Now that I'm a senior, I fully grasp why all the older skaters looked so exasperated."

"Ah, they're only children, how bad can they be?"

"Was I just a child when I caught you weeping in that Sochi toilet, Katsudon?"

"So, all the Russian kids are mean?" Yuuri raised an eyebrow at Yurio.

"I guess not. Maybe Yakov selects the meanest of them all on purpose. You're the only non-mean person in the Russian top skating camp."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I'm not sure it was, but suit yourself," Yurio shrugged.

As the two turned the corner of the street, an enormous circular glass building loomed in front of them.

"Oh, damn, we're here," Yurio halted. "Now is the last chance to turn back, Yuuri."

"Just get going, Yuri!" the annoyed Japanese protested.

"You're crazy! Do you have any idea how awful the two girls are?!" the teenager continued arguing his case, wishing the stupid Katsudon would see reason and turn tale with him. How he would excuse his absence later was another story altogether.

"So, you are afraid of little girls?" Yuuri inquired, opting for a full-front confrontation. Yuri's pride would never allow him to skip training if he had been accused of being chicken right beforehand. As he was the Japanese's ticket to the Russian-only training session, Yuuri couldn't afford to be sensitive.

"They are not just little girls, they are…"

"What?! Beasts? I think you are severely prejudiced here because your entire fan club is comprised of obsessive young girls. And we all know you are avoiding them like the devil runs from holy water."

"Fuck you," Yuri Plisetsky cursed, his flaming cheeks revealing how mortified he felt.

"Love you, too, Yurochka," Yuuri smiled. _And thank you, I need you today, my friend._

"The nickname is for my grandfather only, you idiot!" the teenager argued menacingly.

"Ah, my bad, I assumed it could be used by any of the few people in the world you don't want to murder."  _Don't kill me for using the cute nickname, please?_

"And you think you've made the cut because…? Plus, besides Dedushka, I don't really care who lives or dies, even the ones I wouldn't bother killing."

"It's always fun talking to you, non-friend," Yuuri admitted simply and honestly. Snarky banter with Yurio had grown to be one of his favorite parts of life in Saint Petersburg.

"You are not too dull, as well, Katsudon," was the kindest reply the Russian was ready to offer.

Yuri Plisetsky and Yuuri Katsuki entered the main hall of the Saint Petersburg Ice Palace, each of them looking around with appreciation. From rock concerts to Grand Prix Finals, there was an event for almost every citizen of Saint Petersburg to reminisce of upon entrance.

"Damn, incoming!" the teenager exclaimed suddenly. "You see the 10-year-old beastie skating towards us next to your dear fiancé? She's in love with him, too. And she hates you, says you wanted to steal him from everybody."

Viktor's face didn't hide his surprise at seeing Yuuri (nonetheless at Yuuri holding his dog) as the duo halted in front of the two friends. Nor did the unnaturally serious face of the black-haired ten-year-old veil her anger.

"Katsuki Yuuri! What is he doing here, Plisetsky? Coach Yakov trains Russian nationals only!" the girl demanded to know in Russian.

 _Yakov does have an eye for mean kids,_  Yuuri thought, glad he didn't have to respond due to his feigned uncomprehension of Russian.

"The Katsudon, as stupid or Japanese as he may be, is still a top skater, Olya. You might learn something from him today. Unless you're too busy glowering at him, that is."

"He barely made it to the silver when none other than Viktor Nikiforov here left everything to teach him, only him, full-time! Then he nearly won nothing at the Worlds. You call that a top skater? The little he's accomplished is all because of Viktor!"

Viktor's expression turned from surprised and unnerved to icy.

"As you were so kind to mention, Olya Yevgenievna, Yuuri is my student. You will treat him with the respect you treat me. I don't see us sharing a rink otherwise, even one as big as the Ice Palace."

"But Viktor, he's not even Russian, Coach Yakov…"

"…is my concern," Viktor's sky-blue eyes were studying the lone figure of Yakov gazing at the tribunes in the middle of the rink. "If you'll excuse me…" the young man said and skated towards the older one.

"Viktor is the only person who can kinda deal with nuts Yakov without incurring too much damage. The problem is that when Viktor is too grumpy to care about anything, he ends up supporting whatever Yakov's insane ol' brain comes up with."

"Yuri, according to you there's not a single sane person on this rink."

"There is one alright. He goes by the nickname "The Ice Tiger of Russia"."

"I see," the Japanese grinned, as he put his skates on and followed said Ice Tiger. Makkachin gave out a sad whimper at being left outside the rink, but quickly recovered and took to exploring the viewers' area.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

"Everyone's gone mad!" Georgi Popovich complained to Mila Babicheva. "The Moscow Circus on Ice performing here in late June! This whole ice skating fever is ridiculous!"

"You are being ridiculous; the so-called fever is terrific! My Instagram following is sky-rocketing," Mila chirped, showing him her Instagram homepage proudly.

"You are kidding me!" Georgi grunted. "Half of them don't even know what a Lutz is, tell you that."

"They know who I am! The rest doesn't really matter."

Taking Mila's smartphone and scanning her Facebook newsfeed only served to further irritate the young man.

"This whole skating mania because of what? One of the most insipid seasons of all times!"

"Ah, but Georgi, I am certain the hype must be because of Carabosse," the woman exclaimed, barely containing her laughter.

"You never know, Viktor's brilliant sitting in the audience might have tipped the scales instead," Georgi spat out. "At least all will be over if his awaited comeback doesn't go down as planned."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but it really isn't all about Viktor this time. A great deal of the reason why is standing right behind you," Mila said, switching to English.

"Damn right, Baba, I'm the new Ice King of Russia. Being something like the disappointing twin brother of the former King, the title skipped you, Georgi."

"I thought you were an ice tiger?" Yuuri chimed in to alleviate a probable confrontation.

"I am the Ice Tiger King!"

"Sorry, doesn't ring a bell, I've only heard about the Lion King and the Russian Fairy, Yurio."

"Shut up, Baba! You can't switch sides like that!" Yuri glowered at the young woman.

"All I see when I look at him is a Russian brat. That should be his nickname," Georgi addressed Mila in Russian before skating away.

"He's had a shitty career, and he knows it. He usually tries to be cool about it 'cause he also knows he's the only one to blame. What is his problem all of a sudden?"

Mila furrowed her brow.

"You don't know the whole story. So be nicer. Why can't I keep my big mouth shut either?"

With that, she rushed after her friend.

"Zhora, don't pout, we're just bitching about," she reassured gently, grabbing the frowning Georgi around the waist.

Unfortunately, they found themselves in too close a proximity to Yakov.

"Georgi! Screwing around with Mila now, are you? If that's so, then you'd better retire right now instead of embarrassing yourself for a final year! No one wants to see Carabosse 2 after she dumps you mid-season."

Silence fell over the rink like a thick blanket.

"Thank you, Coach, for saving me the need to announce it myself. To anyone who still has doubts – yes, this is my final season. And for those interested – I'm not seeing Mila, thank you, I'm into nasty sharp-tongued  _women_ , not their  _girl_  equivalent," the 28-year-old snapped bitterly.

"People without many friends should pick their words more wisely," the 19-year-old Mila countered, feeling heat reach her cheeks.

Before Georgi could form a response, a girl and a boy flanked him.

"Zhora, you can't, we love watching you skate!" the boy looked sadly at the young man.

"You retire, and who's gonna nail the Lutzes? Or wear the cool make-up?" the girl winked enthusiastically.

"Children…" Georgi sighed, but Yakov, who already seemed more like himself, but in:

"Our Georgi is 28 years old already. How many skaters last that long? We can only be proud of him. His last season will be one to remember!"

"So, you and I, Georgi, for the final season," Viktor said silently with an impenetrable face.

"You and I, Viktor."

At that moment, a bark echoed in the hall. Yakov's eagle eyes immediately spotted a fluffy dark poodle, biting at one of the audience's seats.

"Too bad one of you never seems to grow up. You just had to bring the dog to the Ice Palace and leave it to roam freely, didn't you, dear Vitya? You realize that the owner, a friend of mine and fan of yours, is letting us skate here today as a personal favor, without even charging us, hmm?" the older man's voice was laced with icy sarcasm.

Yuuri, who realized what had just happened, swallowed. No one knew he had any knowledge of Russian, and he preferred keeping it that way. But he couldn't let Viktor take the fall for him.

_One doesn't really need any Russian to get the situation, and if I speak up in English again…_

"Makkachin, behave yourself!" Viktor shouted out before Yuuri could gather the courage to speak. The dog sat down obediently. "He's a good boy," Viktor reassured.

"You're paying for the demolished seat!" Yakov retorted. "Now, everyone, gather in two rows, seniors in the back, and all girls to the left."

"That is sexist, Coach," Mila feigned insulted, not moving from her place.

"Disobey, and you'll be jumping quads all day."

"That actually sounds like fun!"

"It sure will be, after you break an arm or a leg."

"Girls can jump quads and should be encouraged to!" Mila protested but nonetheless skated towards the left side of the already formed senior column.

A meter to her right stood Yuuri Katsuki.

Used to his presence around their home rink, Yakov had initially paid him no mind, but at that moment the Japanese caught his full attention.

"What are you doing here, Katsuki? Or did you acquire Russian citizenship alongside a Russian coach, which I happen to know nothing about?" he asked in English.

"He's with me. I don't see why he shouldn't train with us," Yurio said authoritatively.

"Fine, then. Let's hope he's brushed up on his Russian because I'm not conducting my lesson in English. This is Russia. If he's here to stay, he might as well adapt."

"Coach Yakov,…" Viktor started, only to be cut off.

"Ha, every time you want something, I suddenly become "Coach Yakov" to you, Vitya. But you'll get no favors from me today. Your girlfriend will have to play the hand she's been dealt."

The silence after Yakov finished speaking was ominous. No one spoke up.

"Problem solved. Now, let's do the warm-up."

"I told you he eats people's heads off for breakfast now. Not to worry, I'll translate for you," Yuri Plisetsky said quietly.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

"Let's start with the…. Oh, who dares interrupt our training?" Yakov grunted as he searched for his ringing phone in his jacket.

"No phones on the ice, Coach!" Mila teased. Yakov made a rebellious grimace, and picked up, forgetting to look who was calling.

"Who are you, and why are you bothering me?"

As he heard the response, his eyes darkened.

"A brief pause, everyone. I'll be back shortly," he said in a taut voice and skated towards the exit.

"Wonder what that was all about," Yurio remarked. "Ah, Katsudon, he said he'd be gone for a while. Let's make a proper tour of the rink, shall we?"

Yuuri and Mila followed the teenager, paying close attention to the hall. They halted in the middle of it.

"What a shame the 2015 GPF was held in Sochi. Our Ice Palace could have pulled it off just as well," Mila noted.

"Hm, I might be from Moscow, but I did grow more as a skater in Saint Petersburg. So, I concur, winning gold here, on home turf, must be nice," Yurio agreed with Mila.

"Well, Viktor, how did it feel back in 2006?" Georgi asked from the side, where his rink-mate was standing still, eyes gazing at the tribunes. All the skaters turned to look at him.

"You know how it did, Georgi, remember? You won gold here that year as well."

"Mocking me, are you? Who cares about the Russian boy who failed to become a senior, and won junior gold with hardly any competition? Who cares, when Viktor Nikiforov won his first senior Grand Prix gold here at 17, wiping the floor with the three-year consecutive champion von Düring?"

"Bernd von Düring. That German swine!" Yakov growled, making everyone jump in their places.

"Yakov, leave von Düring to rest in peace. He's long retired," Viktor suddenly spoke up, his voice slightly pitched, his gaze full of emotion.

"You should have seen that scoundrel's face right after they announced his final score. When he realized my Vitya beat him to the gold!" Yakov patted Viktor on the back with burning flames in his eyes.

"We have seen it, alright, in the newly edited version of the 2006 GPF recording. There were enough cameras, pointing at von Düring right then. His gaping face will remain in history," Mila explained.

"As it should," Yakov added, obviously pleased.

Meanwhile, Viktor had moved to the very center of the hall and turned towards its left long side. Yuuri's eyes followed him, unblinking.

"Von Düring. He was standing right there when I finished my free skate," Viktor said quietly, indicating the spot with his gaze.

"It was cool the way you pointed him out in challenge right then," Yurio chimed in.

"He tried to rise to it, and failed! He was covered in sweat, out of breath, fully spent as he finished his free skate. He did his best, and it wasn't enough," Yakov gloated.

"And then he retired, the fool! I bet he'd have owned your ass, Viktor, had he stayed active for a little longer."

Yakov's eyes widened.

"Over my dead body!" he quarreled. Calming down a little, he added, "Viktor is the better skater. And he showed it for the whole world to see! The entire hall sang the national anthem as Vitya was awarded his medal."

"Yeah, yeah, we've seen it on TV and DVD, old man. At one point, von Düring looks like he wants to murder everybody in the hall, so would I have in his place. He so shouldn't have retired. Despite this shameful loss, he's the coolest skater of all time."

"Too much break, and you start talking nonsense, brat. Back to work! And not only him, all of you! Anyone says another good word about von Düring today, and they'd be training until they've forgotten their names!"

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

Not too long after training resumed, Yurio's patience evaporated.

"Damn it, Katsudon, by the time I've translated, everybody has executed the command! Just do what we do, OK?"

Yuuri just nodded. At times Yurio's translation had even proved unnecessary. Moreover, he hadn't decided to take part in Yakov's daily group training session for the training, but to explore the relations between Viktor, his coach, and his rink-mates. The fact that the session happened to be a special one, carried out in the Saint Petersburg Ice Palace, was a welcomed bonus.

"Now, do the…" Yakov started, but Yuuri managed to understand only as much. As he saw everybody doing sit spins, he joined in.

_Just do what the Russians do, Katsuki._

"Let's do some jumps, beginning with the simpler ones. The Salchow, for instance. One rotation as a start."

Yakov was walking between his jumping students, scolding most of them for errors only he could perceive. Then he stopped in front of Viktor.

"Bravo, Vitya! Perfect execution!"

Yurio, who had watched Viktor jump, went mad.

"You can't be serious! What he did wasn't even a Salchow, but a Waltz jump! Half-rotation! Forward outside edge!"

"Unless you've perfected the basics, you'll never do a decent quad. The Waltz is great preparation for the Salchow, and my Vitya nailed it! What's your issue with that?"

"That we all jumped decent Salchows, even the little beasties, and you're praising him for a fucking Waltz a 5-year-old can do? You are treating him like a child! Olya here is 10, gets yelled at, and is fine with it!"

"You're just jealous that Viktor is better than you," Olya chimed in.

Yakov's expression hardened.

"Back to your jumps, everyone, double, triple, go! Quads only for the senior wannabe men!"

His eyes briefly met Viktors. Concern shone in both pairs of blue eyes.

 _Don't think about Yakov being crazily nice all of a sudden, or Viktor jumping simple Waltzes, you don't want to be the old man's next target when he turns evil again!  
__I wouldn't refuse the crazy praise, though,_ Yuuri added as he jumped a quad Salchow.

"Not bad, Katsuki," the comment in English caught the Japanese unawares right after his landing.

Just as he was about to allow himself a small smile, Yakov added:

"Not bad, if you want to qualify for the Grand Prix Final, and finish last again! All of you, men, I want to see perfect quadruple Salchows, what you are doing is making Ulrich Salchow turn in his grave."

The rude comment stung.

_This sounds more like his usual amount of nasty, though. In any case, I don't think I want to be training with everybody ever again…_

_No, wait just a minute! Say something kinda nice, and then bury you under a pile of criticism! Viktor does what Yakov does during training. The trick is not to take it too personally… With Viktor – it's a gamble. Oftentimes, he just winks afterward, and everything is fine. And then there are the times that hearing harsh criticism from the man that I love just hurts too much. Yakov can't hurt me that much, even if he wanted to…_

_Yet, he still is authoritative, imposing, and just… scary. To top it all off, he makes you crave praise almost as much as Viktor does._

"Katsuki, we are training here, not day-dreaming!" Yakov barked.

_Oh, right… Deductions later._

"Vicky, come to me, gorgeous!" a magnified female voice echoed loudly in the hall right afterward.

_What?!_

Yuuri Katsuki fell hard on his bottom, failing his attempt at another quad Salchow. As he got to his feet, he looked frantically around the hall.

_Vicky + gorgeous + that voice… No, it can't be, it can't!_

At that moment, three purple searchlights illuminated Viktor's position on the rink.

Two red ones were lighting the way from Viktor to... A tall, graceful woman with golden waist-length hair, full red lips, and shimmering piercing grey eyes. The front of her long, lean legs was distractingly on display, covered only by a mini-skirt. A long, unbuttoned cardigan was cascading down her back, both underlining and concealing her female curves and beautiful legs.

 _The world prima ballerina, Lidia Alyona Davydova!_  Yuuri registered in shock.  _What does she want with Viktor?!_

The ongoing training all but forgotten, the Japanese turned towards Viktor only to witness him wave at the woman while wearing his signature wide brilliant-white smile, which hung on several billboards across town. Then, abruptly, Viktor's eyes tore away from the stunning ballerina to meet Yakov's.

"All of you lazy children, this is no break! Continue your Salchows, I'll be right back!" the old man ordered sternly and accompanied Viktor away from the crowd.

"You don't have to do this, Vitya," he continued silently in a much gentler voice.

"Yes, I have to, and we both know it. It's too late to turn back anyway. Everybody saw Lidia's little light show. The damage is done, let it at least be worth something."

More than displeased, Yakov frowned.

"I really hate that girl. How my Lilia could train somebody like her is beyond me."

"Hm,  _your_  Lilia isn't exactly the most pleasant easy-going type either," Viktor remarked dryly with a raised eyebrow. To allay the impending argument, he added, "Anyway, in my current shape I'd better skip today's training. Viktor Nikiforov jumping Waltzes is no good for the group morale. My own morale is a whole different story…"

"Vitya, my boy, a mildly sprained ankle heals quickly, but a lost spirit is much harder to retrieve."

"Quit playing the philosopher, and start watching after yourself! Calling me "Vitya" in front of everybody, losing your temper over nothing, or praising me for nothing, reliving the past… It was her who phoned you, wasn't it?"

Viktor needed no vocal confirmation to know he was right. However, he was robbed of it altogether.

"Coach Feltsman, be so kind to leave my Vicky alone. If anyone can afford to skip a training session, it's him!"

Viktor rolled his eyes, but then fixed them on the older man with doubled intensity.

"It's going to be alright, Yakov, but you must hold yourself together! Promise?"

"Yes, Vitya, yes, I know, but it's much easier said than done."

"What I've learned about you during the past 20 years is that there's nothing you can't do. But please, not a word to anybody about either von Düring or Lidia, OK?"

As Yakov nodded, Viktor embraced him tightly, planting a surprising kiss on his forehead, and hurried towards the impatient Lidia…

… who threw herself on him as soon as he was in range to catch her.

"Damn you, Lidia!" Viktor cursed silently, as he barely succeeded in keeping his balance. Gritting his teeth, he made himself skate in a small circle and perform a camel spin on his good leg with the ballerina in his arms.

Some claps could be heard as the couple exited the rink.

"You just had to jump me from the very start!" Viktor murmured angrily under his breath.

"You think I'm enjoying this mascarade? It's just that the story must be as authentic as possible!"

"This stunt you pulled was repulsive and plain overkill! Next time, at least save it for the damn journalists!"

"Your skating was disgustingly underwhelming, not my gameplay! If you are going to flounder throughout the new season, we might as well end this right now! I don't want to be even remotely associated with a potential failure," the beautiful woman declared with finality, tossing her glittering hair behind her back with elegance and haughtiness.

"Oh, really? Because you had no guarantee of my future success when you called Lilia to beg for a publicity boost! You're not backing down after what you did in there, Lidia!" Viktor exclaimed furiously, pointing at the closed doors of the ice rink.

"I am not backing down because you are Viktor Nikiforov. You never fail," Lidia replied calmly, dropping all pretense.

Viktor exhaled loudly while running a hand through his hair.

"You will not fail," the woman said with conviction that was humbling for Viktor. 

"I'm trying not to."  _You truly believe in me that much?_

"Try as hard as you can and you won't."

Lidia caressed Viktor's back soothingly as the two walked towards his car.

"Look at us. We might actually convince somebody that we're together," the young man said with a wry smile. When they reached the automobile, Viktor halted close to his companion, deeply inhaling her scent.  _Mm, raspberries, cherries, all kinds of fruit, and the usual dose of jasmine… She is well aware I am addicted to this fragrance, and she's soaked in it every time I meet her. Devil woman…!_

"Of course we can convince them," she whispered in his ear after shortening the distance between them. Viktor hummed in agreement. "But not unless you cut your Japanese pet loose," she uttered steely and moved away from the skater, thus breaking the idyll, which had descended upon him.

"What?!" he exclaimed and followed her into the car.

"You can't be seen with him a day after the news about us come out! Continue training him if you want to, but end your relationship with him already! This is why hardly anybody in Russia wants to sponsor you!"

"That's old news, Lidia," Viktor said with feigned boredom.

"But it's also the reason why many international brands refuse to continue your endorsement contracts. Nobody wants to bet their money on a gay skater with uncertain future, however famous he might currently be."

"Is there anything Yakov hasn't told Lilia that she hasn't told you about my financial situation?"

"I just wanted to know why you'd agree to my proposition and risk breaking your boyfriend's heart," Lidia answered with painful for Viktor honesty. 

"The things we do for money and fame," Viktor spat out with venom, directed entirely at himself. "But it's not like he loves me, he can't really love me."

"Why not? You're cute and famous, babe. And you drive a nice car. Isn't that what everybody's always been after?"

Unfazed by her sarcasm, Viktor retained his serious and straightforward attitude.

"I blow up romantic relationships. You experienced it."

"But isn't that valid by default for women only?"

"No, it's not, men dump me, too. With women, I just stand zero chance from the beginning being of my locally condemned sexual orientation."

"Oh, so I wasn't the only one to dump you?"

"You weren't even the first one to do so, Lidia."

"And here I thought I was special," the woman remarked with theatrical disappointment. "But you know, you have another way out of groping me in front of the cameras today. You can just stop supporting young skaters and financing your home rink, and even buying fancy new designer skates for the Plisetsky brat and the others! If the Ice Tiger of Russia starts charming the media, he'll swim in money..."

Viktor laughed whole-heartedly.

"I can imagine him doing that. He's pretty much sponsorless on top of the skating world, and he'll stay that way so long as I can afford it. And I will be able to afford it because of what we're about to do."

"By all means you will. I'm not trying to get you to bail out, on the contrary, I could use plenty of fame and fortune myself."

"You're doing alright, Lidia. Greed is your true problem."

"I refrain from commenting on this," the ballerina snapped.

"Whatever," Viktor merely shook his head.

After a while of silence, he spoke up again:

"We'll be there shortly. We'd better discuss this gameplay of yours."

"Just be madly in love with me and follow my lead."

"I don't want any more surprises, Lidia. We'll smile, we'll laugh, and be stickily sweet to each other. Let the yellow press devise the rest."

"This is not nearly enough! You kissed that Japanese boy on live TV, and gave him a wedding ring! Being nice to me pales in comparison!"

"You want a marriage proposal?" Viktor mocked.

"God forbid, no!"

"So I thought. We are agreed, then?"

"You will take your ring off," Lidia insisted, to Viktor's horror.

"What? No, I will not! You can't want such a thing from me."

"There's no show otherwise."

"I am not taking off my ring. Not now. Not ever."

"Fine. Arrivederci, mon amur," the woman said with a fake smile and opened the door of the already parked automobile.

"Damn you, get back in! Alright! I won't wear the ring. But only for today."

"That's not…"

Viktor caught Lidia's arm, yanking her towards him.

"That's the best you'll get! No ring, but also no kisses, no relationship confirmations, nothing! You try to kiss me, and I will slap you in front of the cameras, all sponsors and endorsement deals be damned!"

The ballerina narrowed her eyes and was about to utter a nasty retort, but, to Viktor's surprise, she smiled warmly instead.

"We're being watched," she said as though it was a love confession, caressing his cheek with her one free hand.

The skater's cheeks flamed immediately. Meanwhile, anger was burning inside him.

"I can't do this," he whispered.

"Breathe."

He followed the advice, but it brought him little.

"This is going to be the death of me," Viktor sighed, with closed eyes, head leaning on Lidia's hand.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

"Enough! I've had enough of this abomination you call figure skating! I'm having a 30-minute pause. You make sure to get your shit together before I'm back. Because what you've been doing is a disgrace to the sport, Russia, and Japan!"

Yakov's voice was thunderous, his face – uncompromising.

The disheartened and partially scowling group of skaters followed him out of the rink.

"Did you see her, Yuri?! She didn't even care to say hello, the snake! I've known her for nearly a decade! But the world-renowned prima ballerina of the Bolshoi Theatre is too good for us!"

"Baba, just cut it off, who cares about that blonde idiot…"

"You are a blonde idiot, she's an ugly, blonde, anorexic cow!"

Shivers ran down Yuri Plisetsky's spine. As he witnessed one of Mila's exceptionally rare fits, he thought of his own noticeably bigger count of temper tantrums. Did he appear just as impolite, ill-behaved, even childish and melodramatic as she did? If that were true… Oh, couldn't he just bury his head in the sand and ignore how pathetic he was?

_Let's at least save Mila's dignity, that ballerina isn't even worth the insults._

"Yes, everybody's stupid and terrible, now let's find a pirozhki place and…."

"Curse you and your pirozhki! How can you not care about what she did? You know her, too! Lilia, who made her, has thought most of us here a thing or two about ballet!"

"That Lilia's taught us doesn't make us friends with Lidia. Why would anybody want to be friends with Lidia anyways?"

"Well, I wanted to be her friend. And I thought I was. But, obviously, Grand Prix bronze and European and Worlds silver don't qualify you for a friend to her Majesty, the ballerina. Stuck up people is the kind I hate the most!" Mila declared furiously.

"Can't argue with that," Yuri said out loud with Viktor and JJ on his mind.

"Ha! It just dawned on me! How can I expect anything from Lidia, when Liliya is such an evil witch herself? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree!"

"Mila, don't involve Lilia in…"

"What did you just say, girl?" Yakov suddenly appeared next to the two friends. His tone and expression bode no good.

"You must have heard me, Coach, so why bother asking about it?" Mila snapped.

"How dare you, foolish child, insult Lilia Baranovskaya? This is the last time I condone ill behavior on your part! You ever lose your cool again, disobey me, or offend a friend of mine, you will find yourself in need of a new coach because I will be done with you!" Yakov said with finality and turned to leave.

"Good! Great!" Mila snapped at Yakov's back, who paid her no mind. Turning towards the remaining skaters, she continued: "Maybe it's high time I got rid of you! Mopy love-sick Georgi, holier-than-thou Viktor, bratty Yurio, Ice Queen Lilia, and the Terminator Coach! Instead of rotting in boring St. Petersburg with people like you, I can be training in New York, or Dubai, or Sydney! Good riddance to you all!"

Mila aimed towards the exit, fuming. Makkachin turned up yowling, having sensed the discord in the group of friends.

Yuri followed the young woman begrudgingly.

But he soon turned around:

"Katsudon! Stay sane, alright? I owe that screaming natural disaster, and I'm paying my dues now. I can't be two places at the same time. Just ignore the Lidia shit for now, there must be some explanation!"

"I am past the age that needs babysitting. I will survive."

"You'd better!" the teenager ordered and ran for the double-doors.

Yuuri Katsuki was grateful. While he was sure his Russian namesake had the best for him in mind, his means of trying to lift Yuuri's spirit usually involved interrogation and piles of foul language, the Japanese wasn't in the mood to bear. In retrospect of the so-called "Lidia shit", he wished to be alone with his fears and aches (AKA heartbrokenness).

To Yuuri dismay, one person showed no interest in leaving the hall for the break.

Georgi Popovich, who had just sat down on the nearest bench.

 _I guess the Ice Palace is big enough for the angst of two,_  Yuuri concluded and took off in the opposite direction with the intention to sit down at the other end of the hall, Makkachin close behind him.

Then he heard the following, said in heavily accented English:

"What about the wedding? Is there a date?"

_He asks me about a wedding after Viktor took off with Russian Barbie?!_

Yuuri turned on his heel, ready to kill for the first time in his life.

"Ask Viktor about it! He just loves coming up with crazy stuff like weddings, and postponing them, and then exchanging his groom for a bride!"

Makkachin whimpered, while Georgi seemed perplexed for a short while.

"You mean Lidia? She hasn't been at our home rink in… about two years. She used to help Mila with ballet. She broke up with Viktor… a long time ago. When, no – as, no when? Yes, when is better. When they were together, she still worked at the Mariinsky Ballet in town and visited often."

"I know she did, it was all over the 'papers!"

"The Japanese ones too?" Georgi asked with a dose of skepticism.

"The sports ones, the gossip column. "The Russian Star Couple Inseparable". "Our Favorite Limelight Darlings Closer Than Ever", blah-blah."

"Oh, that's nothing, the Russian titles were way worse."

"That's a relief," Yuuri remarked sorrowfully.

"So... The wedding?"

"What's wrong with you? Viktor just left with his ex after skating with her in his arms and a light show of red and purple! The wedding is off the table, now more than ever. Who knows if it was ever on the table, to begin with."

"You're not listening, Yuuri. Viktor is unreliable, inconsiderate, and stupid. Lidia… Always has some hidden agenda, and ended their relationship in the first place. You should give them the benefit of the doubt."

"You're not listening either, Georgi. There's no wedding!"

"Hm. You sure? I don't believe you, because of the rings. And Viktor's threats against mentioning the wedding. Something's wrong with the whole thing, yes, but he cares too much about it. He is… What was the expression? Emotionally invested? That's better than most of his lovers get."

"M-most of his lovers? He doesn't care about them?"

"His exes. He surely doesn't now, he didn't much when they were together either," the Russian shrugged.

Viktor Nikiforov's former lovers was a topic Yuuri Katsuki had abstained from delving in. The yellow press had matched the legendary skater to quite the number of extraordinarily attractive women throughout the years, but since Viktor had suddenly shown interest in 1. an unattractive, 2. man like Yuuri (according to his own self-assessment), the Japanese had conveniently assumed that all those stories were unreliable gossip.

But were they?

"I've had enough of guessing what is true of all the information about Viktor in the media! I don't want to hear what you know either."

"You shouldn't hear it from me anyway, but from Viktor. But he has told you little about himself. This is typical. I thought you would be an exception. Still, the wedding is a thing for him."

"Will you stop talking about the bloody wedding?!" Yuuri shouted out involuntarily in a slight British accent he was supposed to have long lost during the years spent in Detroit.

"If that will make the shouting stop. By the way, it was only because of a dare with Mila. Who would dare talk to you about the wedding first and risk losing their head. Viktor is vindictive."

"You are playing with my feelings because of some bet?"

"I wanted to know more about it all, too. Will you calm down now? You are getting me all wired, and I was in a bad mood to begin with."

Makkachin, who struggled with enduring the whole exchange, had moved to Georgi's side early on during the conversation but started moving away from him, too.

"No, I will not calm down! I'm sick of everybody dissecting my personal life! You, Yurio, the yellow press, Phichit, my family, and even JJ, for crying out loud! What right do you think you have to intrude on my relationship with Viktor?!"

"And what right do you think you have to shout at me, Katsuki? What did you expect when you hooked up with Viktor Nikiforov? That you'll live forever in a bubble, and the media and everybody else wouldn't bat an eye about Viktor's first boyfriend? At least the first he kissed on live TV."

"Oh, more hints about Viktor's supposed numerous former lovers? Why should I believe a word you say?"

"I couldn't care less whether you believe me or not. Now leave me alone."

Yuuri turned to leave, but he stopped in his tracks.

"Lidia. You really believe they aren't back together?" he asked, swallowing his pride.

A humorless, cold laughter came out of Georgi's lips, which were curved in an icy smile.

"So desperately in love with someone who might have been cheating on you the entire time. You could have gotten my sympathy during the Rostelekom Cup. But Carabosse and the prince in shining armor are long dead now. I can't even pity you, Yuuri Katsuki. Call me once you realize how naïve and laughable you've been."

At that moment, Yakov came in, followed by the rest of his students.

"So, children, neither of us was in their best shape during the first half of the training. Let's do a better job with the time we have left."

"Ay, ay, Coach," everybody but Yuuri and Georgi answered. Even Yuri and Mila joined in with small smiles.

"Zhora, you overgrown child, we want to see the best of you on the rink, too," Yakov remarked, eyeing the eldest of his students.

"And so you will," Georgi assured, his aquamarine eyes concealing his silent anger.

Yuuri managed to understand the exchange in Russian. However, nobody tried to include him in the conversation. Even Makkachin had disappeared from his side. While he was putting his skates on, feelings of loneliness and isolation engulfed Yuuri's heart in a deadly embrace.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

Magnificent statues, elaborately adorned fountains, bright green bushes encircling colorful flowers, and numerous people, dressed in 1700s fashion.

Among them, there was a commotion of ordinary people, enthusiastically snapping photos of everything, leading cheerful conversations or quietly enjoying the festive atmosphere and the June sun.

However, to the left side of the grand park, something more peculiar was taking place.

An attractive couple of a platinum-haired dashing young man wearing Russian Emperor clothes and a beautiful golden-haired young lady of the same height, dressed in a ceremonial Empress' dress from the 18th century, were standing next to each other, giving away autographs and getting photographed with the excited people who were waiting in a line in front of them.

A middle-aged man of no extraordinary appearance stood next to the couple, carrying a microphone and doing his best to charm a non-present audience of millions.

"Viktor! Lidia!" he exclaimed at one point with a huge smile after pausing the improvisatory fan meet and greet. "Excuse my childish excitement, but it's just so good to see the two of you together again!"

"We're not…" the skater started, only to be immediately interrupted.

"Oh, you are embarrassing us, Pashenka, we've only recently started seeing each other more frequently. We go with the flow, and we'll see where it takes us. Right, Vicky?"

"Yes, in case anything noteworthy happens, you'll be the first to know, my friend."

"Then I hope to hear from you real soon, and I am sure I'm not the only one…" Pasha continued and was awarded with claps and shouts of approval from the queuing people.

"Something I've been wondering though, loves, is how the two of you usually spend the White Nights season."

"Oh, like everybody else, really – we absolutely adore the Scarlet Sails, watching the Neva bridges open or visiting carnivals like this one. With the small difference that we try to be slightly more incognito."

The man with the mic laughed.

"Of course you do, you need your privacy, I can imagine how hard it can be to be more… intimate with each other when everybody's watching."

 _Oh my God, this has gotten out of control,_  Viktor thought, somehow managing to keep his discontent from showing. At that moment, a female hand caught him by the waist, and before he knew it, two plump lips were pressed against his own.

He froze.

 _Lidia, how could you?!_  
_Get off me!_  
_Now!_  
_Please!_

These heated words stormed Viktor's mind in an instant, but Lidia only deepened the kiss.

_God, I can't just run for the hills, too much is depending on me…_

Viktor reluctantly put a hand on the back of the ballerina's neck, kissing her back.

_Yuuri, please… It's not her, it's you. I am yours. Please, love me, baby, and forgive what I had to do…_

Viktor Nikiforov, red, breathless, with a strange feverish glow in his eyes held and was being held by Lidia Davydova, who looked happy and content.

"We manage with the intimacy just fine, Pashenka," the woman chirped, gave Viktor a kiss on the cheek and winked.

"Oh, I just love June. What isn't there to love? Endless days, festivals, and this wonderful woman!" Viktor exclaimed theatrically giving Lidia an overblown appraising look, bordering on creepy.

"Hmm, I'm afraid our Viktor is losing his mind after what just happened? Who wouldn't, right? Haha, let's give the two lovebirds some privacy, they've earned it!"

"That was all from the carnival here, in Peterhof, with our special guests the star lovers Viktor and Lidia. Good night from me, Pasha Izmirliev, and make the most of it because the sun is going nowhere, and it's party time!"

Wearing fake smiles, Viktor and Lidia made their way towards the former's car, holding hands.

"Shit, we have to go back, the dressing room is the other way. We have to get rid of those silly costumes."

"I have to get away from here, fast," Viktor said, unlocking his car.

Lidia followed him inside.

"You embarrassed me out there, and now you're making me steal from the local history museum?"

Viktor fired up the engine.

"I'm not making you do anything. Was I not so keen on disappearing straightaway, I would have gladly dragged you out of my car!"

"That would have been just brilliant, Viktor! You'd have cemented your sponsorless, endorsementless future! Worse, you might have already done it! I love June, it's so sunny, let's worship the month by chopping our fake girlfriends' heads off!" The final sentence was said in a sarcastic Viktor imitation.

"I was just expressing my boundless love for you, baby. It can be only compared to my love for the current damned month."

"Curse you! You are a perfect actor, but you just had to shit all over the part of your lifetime! We looove the Scarlet Sails like there isn't anything more generic than that!"

"Lidia, you are pushing me dangerously close towards my "Fuck y'all" zone. Once I'm in it, I'll let everyone know that the prima ballerina paid me for a kiss on live TV, 'cause photos of her ceased to be in every magazine there is! You said it, I can be very persuasive."

"You also said you'd slap me if I kissed you, if I recall correctly," Lidia said sarcastically.

"You don't want to open that subject," Viktor said in a disturbingly calm and collected voice.

"Your kissing has grown worse," the woman criticized.

Viktor pulled off and stopped in a matter of seconds. Lidia surged forward and then abruptly fell back hard in her seat, all from the impact of the sudden halt.

"What is wrong with…" she started, but the skater took her head in his hands, fixing it in one place, pointed at him.

"Everything between us is over. Don't you ever call me for favors because you dried your reserve. For all that matters, I am engaged, and today you spat on everything I hold dear."

"I did you a far greater favor than you did me, you ungrateful, stubborn, and stupid man! For nothing in the world would anybody in Russia agree to sponsor a gay figure skater! Now at least you have a shot at winning over some of your former sponsors."

Viktor released her and run a hand through his hair.

"Don't try doing me favors ever again. I have some international sponsors and endorsement contracts left. Even a precious few Russian, for your information."

"Yeah, barely enough to support your lifestyle. Otherwise, you would have already sold your Mercedes for a Lada, gorgeous. But Lilia informed me that half of the remaining arrangements end at the start of the new season. Who knows whether they'll be renewed?"

"Frankly, I've no idea. Worst of all, I can't stand charming rich people into giving me money anymore. I didn't have to for years, the money pours from the sky when you are the world figure skating champion."

"Not for Yuri Plisetsky."

"Oh, for him, too, however unappealingly he might present himself on TV. But he just blows up all the meetings Yakov gets him to attend. The last person who offered him an endorsement deal had to call security to get him out of the building," Viktor couldn't help smiling, wishing he himself could have afforded to insult important people he didn't like back in the day.

"But with the rise in government funding for sport before the Sochi Olympics, Yurio's in no dire need for money. And recently some Chinese company agreed to sponsor him after the brat offended the owner quite badly. The man said Yuri had a winner's spirit. Who knows what his actual agenda is. Of course, he can just be crazy, too."

"You like the brat, I can see it in the way you talk about him."

"I wouldn't be helping him beat me otherwise."

"You are helping two Yuris to beat you!"

"Yes, I'm digging my own grave. I'll retire defeated, but it hurts less when you're defeated by people you love," Viktor confessed with a sigh.

"Stop right there! You've never, not once in your life admitted that you will lose! Whatever the odds, you always say you're going to win! Snap out of this sorry attitude, and you might turn the tide!"

"But I don't know if I truly want to win anymore. How will I feel if I steal my Yuuri's gold?" Viktor said despondently. 

"Don't tell me that you, Viktor Nikiforov, are deeply in love with that unobtrusive, bland Japanese boy!"

"Lidia…!" Viktor warned with anger shimmering in his sky-blue eyes.

"Hm, you either love him, or you don't like hearing the truth about your dull current boyfriend. You used to have better taste."

"Lidia, just get off my car. You made me take off my engagement ring, you kissed me in front of everybody, and you insulted Yuuri."

"Have you gone mad? I'm not getting off here, and in these clothes!"

"Then call a cab."

"I'll wait here until it arrives!"

Viktor simply sighed, as the woman dialed a number. He felt like a small grey-furred hamster, cursed to run forever in a spinning wheel, unable to change a thing about his destiny. He was stuck playing roles for the media, stuck in a hazy zone with his relationship to Yuuri, stuck with his obligations towards a great many people, stuck with his past, which was suffocating his future, stuck, watching everything slowly leave him.

"Viktor Nikiforov is dying, and there's nothing I can do about it. I have about two seasons left in me. Two seasons for my career to thoroughly bite the dust." The words came out by themselves shortly after the woman had finished her conversation.

"Ha! What about me? I'm a 32-year-old ballerina, trying to recapture her prime. My star is declining, but I'm not going down without a fight! Nor are you!"

"My God, Lidia, there are ballerinas who make it to 40, hell, even 50! With a shortened repertoire, rare appearances, yes, but... I don't know, look at Lilia, she is…"

"Dying, Viktor. In the literal sense," the woman cut in solemnly, putting a hand in front of her eyes to conceal the emotion she was unable to hold back.

"I know," the skater confirmed in a low voice, but then continued, "Damn it, that's not what I meant, she is very sick, but she will get better!"

"Be realistic, her chances are slim. Even if she lives, what will be left of her after the chemotherapy? And I don't know in what fantasy world you're living, but there isn't a single 50-year-old ballerina currently in the Bolshoi Ballet, and there are hardly any 40-year-olds! Lilia performs, or at least used to, just twice a year, two short nostalgy shows for old fools!" Lidia stopped to take a breath, her grey eyes penetrating like keenly sharpened daggers.

"The oldest female principal dancer at the Bolshoi just got 38, and the directors reduced her performances a year ago! How long do you think a prima ballerina lasts before becoming one of the many principals, just a face in the crowd?!"

"The principals are the best ballerinas."

"Just like the Grand Prix finalists are the best skaters, but the difference between the 1st and the last is from the Earth to the sky!"

Suddenly at a loss for words, Vikor took a deep breath. _God, what an idiot I am, Lilia is to her almost what Yakov is to me… She must be scared, confused… She is making it all about herself, overconcentrating on her career, while trying to get accustomed to the worse scenario – Lilia's death… And I didn't think once about how she must be feeling these days…!_

"Viktor Nikiforov. For years you've been called a living figure skating legend, blah-blah. And what happened last year? Both your records were beaten! Plisetsky's name is cited as often as yours in the Russian press already. The name Lilia Davydova, world-renowned prima ballerina, is slowly disappearing, too. But I swear I will reverse this! I will have my full glamor for a few years more!"

"Then what?" Viktor asked, having no clue what else to say.

"I'm not thinking that far ahead. Why would I want to?"

Viktor laughed bitterly.

"I'm trying not to, as well. At least you've got several years left in the limelight, Lidia. I'm almost done."

"Ah, but I told you, I'm with one foot in the grave, too, gorgeous. In ballet, you get to 30-something, and you start being looked at as a dying flower. If your petals start falling too fast, you're pushed to the sidelines. If you're still active at 40, you're the living dead. At 50, you're dead. Sometimes literally. Injuries, operations, or tumors, due to constant stress, not too healthy diet, the list goes on. What happens to former figure skaters? They lose their hair, grow fat, ugly, solemn and grumpy."

The allusions to Lilia and Yakov were obvious, and only partially correct according to Viktor, but he didn't want to argue. Her death metaphors only showed how much Lilia's illness was affecting her. He wished to soothe her somehow, but how do you comfort people who refuse to admit they're hurting? How do you comfort people at all? This wasn't among Viktor's strengths.

"Hm, I guess I'd better go now. My flight back to Moscow is early tomorrow."

"Uh, the taxi, is it here?"

"It was, and it left. The driver called two times, I hung up. I'm not surprised you didn't even notice, your mind seems to be elsewhere, it usually is."

"No, right now it's more here than ever. I just don't know what to say."

"I know. Hold on, Vicky, you are the best figure skater."

Viktor could feel his eyes water. _What is going on with me?_

"You are the prima ballerina, Liddy. And always will be."

"That was a sweet thing to say. Goodbye, gorgeous, until we meet again."

The beautiful woman walked gracefully down the street, looking like a true Empress with her golden hair and 1700's Russian royal dress.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

"That's all for today, children, thank you for the good second half, and see you tomorrow," Yakov said loudly, concealing a smile.

"Yuri, come with me, I know a good restaurant nearby, and, yes, they make pirozhki, too. We have a lot of work to do, and we get to use the rink for your personal training session today."

Excited, Yuri was about to follow Yakov immediately, but something stopped him.

"Katsudon, you alright? Just make Viktor explain himself, and you'll see there can't be anything going on between them. Lidia is old news, and she grates on everybody's nerves."

Yuri patted his Japanese namesake on the back in a gesture that was supposed to be encouraging and calming. It only succeeded in embarrassing Yuri himself, so he quickly caught up with his coach.

Meanwhile, Yuuri remained in his place, dreading going back to his current home and facing Viktor, who never deemed necessary to justify any of his actions.

"Yuri cares about you a great deal. Physical contact with anybody is usually taboo to him."

As Yuuri gave no answer, Georgi continued, switching to English.

"You must know some Russian. You did a few exercises simultaneously with us."

"A1 level. It means that my Russian is very bad."

"Well, my English is very bad. We can help each other out."

"Your English is fine, Georgi, you might only work on the pronunciation and accent."

"My English is fine only when I'm pissed off like I still kind of am. I think of words much faster."

"As a matter of fact, you do, but your usual English is still OK. In comparison, I can't communicate with anybody in Russian."

"We'll see about that. What about tonight? I have a bad mood to kill, and so do you. Let's go somewhere together. If nobody wants to talk about their problems, we will train languages until we burn out the negative emotions. Or get sleepy."

Yuuri, whose sense of loneliness had grown exponentially throughout the rest of the training session, and who was more afraid of going home and finding no Viktor there than going home and talking to him about Lidia, couldn't be more grateful for the offer. His heated conversation with Georgi from earlier was forgiven instantaneously.

Yuuri stepped towards the other skater and embraced him gently.

"Thank you."

The Russian smiled and returned the embrace.

"Thank you. I don't really want to be alone right now either."

"You are reading my mind," Yuuri confessed and the two aimed for the exit. Makkachin barked impatiently.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

In a silver Mercedes driving aimlessly around the city of Saint Petersburg was Viktor Nikiforov, feeling guilty, lonely and afraid. However, there was no one he felt he could share this burden with.

He tried to shake off the negativity plaguing his mind, but he was stuck with it as much as his entire life seemed stuck in an awful place.

 _On top of it all, I'm also stuck in the Tsar's clothes from a couple of centuries ago,_  he grunted and a sense of embarrassment was added to the pile of emotions, overloading his heart.

_I'd better make a call unless I want trouble with the local authorities and the history museum. Good that I'm wearing replicas…_

As he looked towards the horizon shortly afterward, irritation settled upon him, too.

 _When will this stupid_ sun set _at last?!_  he wondered angrily. It was 9 p.m., but the sun in Saint Petersburg never fully disappears during the White Nights season, which lasts until the first few days of July. With days and nights mingling together, a sense of timelessness had fallen over the city during the one month in the year Viktor Nikiforov couldn't wait to end.

He turned several corners more and made a decision. A decision that was, in fact, made some time ago, but the execution of which Viktor had continued postponing.

He went to a clothes store, bought himself a decent outfit, changed into it and jumped back into his car.

_Shirt, trousers, cardigan. Business-casual. If I show up in a suit, he'll know I've dressed up for him. Where would I wear suits, except when I'm playing the responsible coach?_

He parked his car and entered a tall glass business building.

 _Damn your indecisiveness, Nikiforov, he's most probably left already!_ he scolded himself as he took the elevator to one of the top floors.

The doors opened, and he found himself in the familiar marble room. The same good-looking blonde secretary nodded as she saw him walking towards her.

Viktor's throat went dry, his hands got wet.

"Is Herr von Düring…" he started with hesitation but was interrupted.

"Yes, the Herr is here. You can come in."

"Right away?" Viktor needed time to compose himself.

"I believe he's expecting you, Herr Nikiforov."

_I'm expected?!_

Wondering if it would be too childish of him to bolt for the elevator, he swallowed and nodded to the lady.

"I'm going in, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter started turning so long that it had to be split in two, and the parts themselves are still very long. Partly because of a character I decided to add subsequently (the still mysterious von Düring), partly because I decided to focus much more on Viktor than usual.  
> Both Lidia, and von Düring have played important parts in Viktor's past and have continued influencing him in some capacity. If we are to understand Viktor and get to the bottom of his issues, we have to get all the missing puzzle pieces, and those two certainly make it into the puzzle of Viktor's rather complicated life.
> 
> P.S. There are some historical name bearers, from whom I'd like to distance myself and say that the von Dürings in the fanfiction are a noble family with a rich history, too, but aren't a prototype of the actual people. I like the name and it suits my purposes, it all boils down to that. So, I'm not making any reference to real-life people (living or deceased), carrying the name von Düring.
> 
> P.P.S. The next chapter is coming soon, and it takes off right where this one stopped. Thank you for bearing with me so far. I will appreciate your feedback on the story so far.


	9. The Way Beyond the Top and the Way Around It

AKA The Juliet-less Romeo, the Eisenkaiser on Ice, and the Prima Ballerina

 

"It's so cozy in here!" Yuuri praised the delightful restaurant Georgi had taken him to and sunk into an enormous chocolate brown plush armchair.

"Yes, my favorite place in town! With a separate room for doggies!" the Russian agreed, taking a seat at the opposite side of the table.

"I'm afraid Makkachin wouldn't want to leave. The food they served him seemed delicious even to me."

"It's hard to get your dog to leave. I usually buy a sausage to bribe my Beethoven into coming with me."

"You have a dog, too?" Yuuri wondered, his interest caught.

"Yes, Viktor and I bought our dogs together. My retriever Beethoven didn't get as famous as Makkachin. But the old boy doesn't complain," Georgi explained, the love for his pet written all over his face.

"I'd like to see him someday."

"Sure. But not at the rink. Yakov banned him from there when he was still a pup. He ate some important documents, the restless rascal."

"He ate them?" Yuuri asked slightly askance.

"He must have because parts of them were gone," Georgi shrugged. "It sounds a little crazy and has never happened at home, but the evidence points at him."

"How did you come up with his name?"

"I didn't take it from the "Beethoven" films!" Georgi stated defensively as if Yuuri had just made such a claim. Realizing his overreaction, he elaborated: "Everybody thinks I did, it's so annoying. My dog isn't а Saint Bernard anyway. I named him after my favorite musician."

"It's a nice name," Yuuri complimented to be on the safe side. Georgi's reactions could be quite unpredictable.

"It is. And don't worry about the food, I already ordered two portions of the restaurant's specialty. You'll love it!"

"Thank you, but I'm not really hungry…"

"You will be. After you get Lidia out of your mind," the Russian countered, provoking Yuuri to open up.

"But I just can't, Georgi… Why would she act like that if nothing is going on between them? Why?!" As expected, Yuuri's ire and jealousy got reignited as soon as he heard Lidia's name.

"She's like that. Extravagant? And she enjoys making a grand entrance. There was a nice idiom about this behavior… Oh, she's full of herself. A bit like Viktor, only more irritating, and that's saying something."

Yuuri sighed.

"Should I feign offended and defend him? I'm not in the mood of defending him right now, really. Also, it's not like there isn't a grain of truth in your words."

"Only a grain?! You can't be serious! At least let it be... a melon! A big one, you pick between green and yellow."

Yuuri smiled, his chestnut eyes coming to life. "It's an idiomatic expression."

"Oh, I guessed so. But I'm still arguing for my melon," Georgi uttered solemnly, with conviction. His ridiculously serious face while discussing his big melon of truth made Yuuri laugh, lifting some of the dark clouds which had gathered around him.

"Viktor has his faults, but we all have them. And he is Viktor."

Georgi frowned.

"Translation of Viktor from Yuuri's dictionary: Viktor equals beauty, wonder, goodness, love, perfection, Ice King, King of everything else, too, passion, role model, happy ever after…"

"I'm beginning to doubt some of those, and the last one seems nearly impossible right now," the Japanese interrupted gloomily.

"Then take action. Identify the issue and solve it together with Viktor. Because, in the end, if the person you love doesn't make you happy, then maybe he's not the one."

"But he is the one, Georgi, just things aren't working, and I… I can't stand this much longer, especially after today. Call me jealous or overemotional, and, well, I am, but… He's crossing the line over and over again, and I feel like a stupid Viktor fanboy with delusions that his idol loves him, too," Yuuri confessed, holding nothing back.

"What has arrogant grey hair done to you?!" Georgi exclaimed condemningly, looking ready to jump to his feet, find Viktor and bring him to justice.

"Arrogant grey hair?" Yuuri repeated, distracted once again from his problems by Georgi's odd figures of speech and his tendency to get swept up too much in the discussion.

"Oh, an improvised milder English version of a nasty childhood nickname of Viktor's. Серый, скверный, злобный /ser'yy, skvern'yy, zlobn'yy/. Viktor, the SSZ, grey, nasty, and evil."

Yuuri was puzzled. "Viktor? Evil?"

"Well, he was a bit nasty as a kid, but nicknames are always exaggerated. So, what did grey hair do to you?" Georgi's expression turned solemn again after the brief digression.

"But his hair is light blonde!" Yuuri protested. "Sorry, I got in a protective mood… Well, it's not something particular he's done to me, it's just… Since I moved to town, he's always away. He goes out at night and returns late. We don't talk. He's… distant. Training with him is not what it used to be…"

"He's been under the weather, but that's normal for the season…" Georgi narrowed his eyes. "You sure that's all? Not that this in itself isn't problematic enough."

"Well, the engagement… He doesn't talk about it to me, but he talks with other people about it!" Yuuri complained, with an undertone of anger and hurt.

"He does… At least to make us not mention it to anyone, including you, Yuuri. Is there something more you're not telling me here?"

"All I can tell you is that I'm not sure there's an engagement at all!" Yuuri cried, wishing he didn't sound so desperate.

"How is that even possible?!" Georgi demanded to know, stupefied. "Did he propose or not? You even have matching rings!"

"I don't want to talk about it! But how can he not want to talk about it to me, either?!"

"Who cares about what he wants?! Just make him talk! What does he say when you broach the subject?"

"Uh, well…" Yuuri started sheepishly.

"You have broached the subject, right?"

"Uhm…"

"You've never even tried? Yuuri!" Georgi admonished. "He might just be scared from the commitment marriage requires, that irresponsible SSZ! Or the issue might be a million other stupid Viktor things. You can't know what's in his thick head until you make him spit it out! Your main problem is lack of communication; everything else is tied to it!"

"That's actually… plausible." _Can our relationship truly be salvaged that easily after all that's happened?_ Yuuri wondered, doubt creeping in. "But I don't want to be the one who opens the subject!" he said immediately afterward.  _It was not I who came up with the engagement!_

"If you want Viktor, you will have to be. He is like a spoiled child – he expects everything from you while giving back as little as possible. The simplest example – he doesn't even know when my birthday is, but if I don't give him a present for his, I'm not a friend of his anymore. This sucks for a long-term romantic relationship, but you chose him yourself."

"He forgot about my birthday last year. Or just didn't know about it."  _Oh, come on, Katsuki, you can't blame him for that, with Makkachin being so ill right then..._  " Yurio, for some reason, did," Yuuri added to avoid the bubbling inner argument.

Georgi laughed.

"Viktor truly is the SSZ, if the little blonde devil is more caring than him!"

"Does everybody have a nasty nickname?"

"Yes, plenty of them. Mila's been the Black Widow ever since she beat up her last boyfriend, a cheating ice hockey player. Yakov has many; the Godfather is my personal favorite. And I've been Carabosse for the past year."

The last sentence was said with vexation. Georgi's anger was back, to Yuuri's alarm, and the Saint Petersburg Carabosse wasn't finished.

"Severely disillusioned with romance as I am, I'd love to advise you to forget about Viktor and live your life. I'm playing devil's advocate instead mainly because Viktor traveled to Japan to train you exclusively, in lieu of becoming the 6th consecutive figure skating world champion. He wouldn't do a thing of this magnitude for anybody else. He did it even before he got to know you, on the basis of your drunken shenanigans in Sochi and a YouTube video. If that doesn't say enough about his feelings, I don't know what else does. Probably nothing, because according to you he seems to be dropping the ball lately."

"I love you, Carabosse!" Yuuri exclaimed, jumped to his feet and hugged the sitting Georgi from behind. He was well aware he wasn't in his right mind to be giving away hugs so freely, but he desperately needed these reminders of what Viktor meant to him, of signs Viktor loved him at all, only the hopeless romantic Georgi had managed to provide.

"But I just summed up the facts," the startled Russian answered. As Yuuri retook his place, he added, disgruntled, "Don't call me Carabosse again, and we're square."

"Agreed. Your English improved after you told me about the nickname, though."

"Because I hate the nickname!" Georgi growled.

"We're closing the topic," Yuuri replied mollifyingly. To his surprise, Georgi shook his head, disappointed with himself.

"I am sorry, Yuuri. For the way I behaved, the things I said at the rink..." the Russian exhaled loudly, thinning his lips. "That I've been a little bit stressed out these days shouldn't reflect on my behavior towards other people, and I've let it. I even freak out when you call me Carabosse! I really am sorry for everything so if there is anything that I can..."

"Stop," Yuuri pleaded embarrassedly. "Just stop, you are apologizing to the person who shouted at you today, Georgi, do you realize that? And if there was anything I could hold against you, it evaporated as soon as you invited me for dinner."

"Viktor doesn't deserve you, Katsuki Yuuri," Georgi declared, making Yuuri flush involuntarily. "You are a good, caring person even on your bad days, something Viktor often isn't on his good ones."

"I am a good person? I don't know about that, but you definitely are! Good-looking, too. And I don't know about Viktor and me, but that girl Anya threw her luck in the dustbin when she left you!"

Georgi smiled wryly. "You sound like Mila, she even wanted to beat Anya up, poor girl wouldn't have lasted a minute against an angry Mila."

"Two portions of Olivier salad for you, Zhora, and your friend Yuuri," a brown-haired young man suddenly said, placing two plates on the table. "And a jug of peach kompot, of course. Приятного аппетита, and sorry for the delay, Nastya called sick today, and nobody could replace her."

"No problem, my friend, we are not in a hurry," Georgi told the man, who nodded politely and took to serving the rest of the tables.

"Does everybody here know you? He even recognized me!" Yuuri said with slight discomfort.

"The owner and the staff love figure skating, so they knew who I was the first time I came here. Now that I'm a regular, I'm even friends with some of them. They're all so friendly, and the restaurant is perfect - Western look, combined with traditional Russian cuisine. A little bit strange, but I like it."

Georgi's final sentence summed up how Yuuri felt about him: _Yes, he's a little bit strange, but I like him,_ the Japanese concluded, while trying out the salad.

"It's delicious! And there's so much of it, I don't even know whether I'll manage..."

"Hey, that's just the appetizer! The Stroganoff beef is on its way!" Georgi warned.

"But there are mashed potatoes and... chopped sausages in here! Mayonnaise, too! It's like a main dish."

"Haha, Russian salads are hardcore. And this is the king of them all - in some parts of Europe it's simply known as "Russian Salad" because it's our most famous one."

"How is it that I'm eating one for the first time..." Yuuri wondered but already knew the answer to his question. "It's just that I've mostly been to restaurants together with Yurio, which means that I ate pirozhki every single time."

"Hm, pirozhki. They are fine, but they don't stand a chance against Stroganoff or Olivier. Only Yuri can eat them non-stop," Georgi criticized. "Viktor hasn't taken you anywhere yet?" the Russian added with sympathy.

"He took me to a Japanese restaurant once. Their Katsudon was pretty awful."

"Then I certainly have to visit Japan and try the local one. Yuri raved the entire past season about how he wished he could eat Moscow pirozhki and Hasetsu Katsudon every day."

"Oh, I'd be delighted if you come to the onsen when you have time. And when I'm there myself, of course," Yuuri said wistfully.

"Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes. Maybe if I were a little bit happier here, the homesickness would vanish, but... This isn't likely to happen soon."

"Yuuri! Try being more optimistic, for my sake if not for yours; your gloomy face can make anyone's heart ache!" Georgi pleaded. "Look, June will be over soon, Viktor will snap out of his evilness, and if that doesn't work out, I'll just lock you two in a room until you've talked through all your issues!"

"Please do that as a final resort," Yuuri agreed, fearful that Viktor could slip away from explaining himself again.

"Of course I will. The SSZ can't run and hide forever."

The Japanese smiled at Georgi's enthusiasm to help and at the amusing abbreviation of the old nickname which made it sound as if Yuuri's beautiful Viktor was some dangerous weaponized robot or a maleficent alien out of a sci-fi movie.

"Great, you look more cheerful now! Let's talk about something pleasant to keep your spirits up," Georgi suggested.

"But... We didn't get to talk about your problems. We discussed mine, and you put me in a better mood, I'd like to do the same for you." Concern shown in Yuuri's eyes. Georgi more than deserved to be happy according to him, and he wouldn't let him keep in what had been troubling him lately.

"Ah, but I'm already in a good mood, I caught yours," Georgi smiled, his aquamarine eyes lighting up. "Helping others always makes me feel better, and your moods are contagious, Yuuri. You have a very expressive face."

"But I really want to help you, Georgi," Yuuri didn't give up, his face excluding childlike stubbornness and genuine worry.

"Oh, fine, fine, I surrender, I'll talk. Your big brown eyes assaulting me like that is just too much to bear," Georgi scoffed. "Just don't laugh at my petty problems, please, because my current self-control is limited."

"I would never do such a thing!"

"Well, you never know, Mila is a sensitive person, but she can't help herself at times... So, where do I start? I'll save the backstory for now and shoot straight: I want to skate really really well my last season, but the choreographies Yakov and I developed are too... predictable. They might look great, but they're like a compilation of what I've executed best throughout the years. I'll impress nobody with them even if I perform them flawlessly."

"There's still time to change them up a bit, I guess. My free skate is still unfinished, you know,"

"That's the problem - I don't want to try making them a little different, I want something entirely different, from the ground up, but I realized it too late. Yakov just won't hear a word about developing a new set of choreographies."

"So what?" Yuuri opposed rebelliously. "It's your final season, not Yakov's. Choreograph your programs yourself. That's what I did after Viktor didn't approve the music for my free skate."

"You did it entirely by yourself? I wish I had your confidence..."

 _Oh, no, you don't!_   Yuuri thought, convinced he was the least self-assured person in the world.

"I just doubt I'll manage to do better on my own than I did together with Yakov..." Georgi went on, his low self-esteem palpable. "I lack concrete ideas, too. All I know is that I want the choreographies to be all about myself this time. I want to show everybody who I truly am. No hiding behind the make-up of fictional characters, no dedicating my skates to women that don't even love me or just somewhat do."

"You need something like "Yuuri on Ice", my last year's free program. It was a celebration of who I am, of my plainness, of all my failures. All I had to do to skate it well was to be boring, shy anxious Katsuki Yuuri and accept myself for what I am. Choreograph your "Georgi on Ice", be yourself, and all will turn out fine. Everybody wants to see Georgi Popovich skate, believe me, not Carabosse," Yuuri asserted with an encouraging smile.

"I'm not certain about the last bit, but the rest sounds really well, Yuuri. Another significant obstacle though is that the music has to be modern. I love classical, and so do the conservative judges, but if I want to surprise anybody... It has to be modern, but I don't listen to pop. Or any other genre except classical. Believe it or not, my phone is cramped with symphonies, requiems, and sonnets."

"Oh, that's something I can help you with. I'm sometimes even ashamed of how much terrible pop hits I end up downloading." As Yuuri noted disappointment and slight creeping up on Georgi's face, he was quick to add, "Ah, but I'm sure we'll find something decent for your skate."

"I just don't want to end up with a version of Christophe's soulless techno tracks. If the awful music weren't enough, all his performances reek of sexuality, without a hint of romance or true love!"

With his own "Eros" in mind, Yuuri decided it was best to abstain from commenting on Chris' sexually loaded skates.

"Don't worry; I listen to enough adequate music to help you find suitable songs."  _Or so I hope._  "But I need to know more about you before we get to work. I have to get an idea of what your programs need to reflect," Yuuri explained, prompting his newfound friend to tell more about himself.  _The chances that I, of all people, will be able to help him with his choreographies are slim, but trying won't hurt._

"So, the backstory will be needed, after all," Georgi sighed with disdain that puzzled the Japanese. "It's not a nice story, Yuuri," the Russian skater clarified. "It all started when I first met Yakov..."

"Hey, this sounds like a promising beginning. You should tell your full story to us, too, sometime," the brown-haired young man was back, carrying the Stroganoff beef. "I'll leave your Olivier, though, it doesn't look like you're finished with it yet."

"See, Georgi, people like your story already," Yuuri encouraged as the man left.

"Well, I don't. And I will cut the crap, with this beginning, I'll reach the end by tomorrow. So, Yakov saw me jumping Lutzes at our current rink, which was government property, run by a friend of Yakov's back then. The man was a legend; he even let us skate for free on Tuesday afternoons. Probably one of the reasons why the rink went bankrupt a couple of years later, but this fact isn't crucial to the story I'm telling you." Suddenly, Georgi's eyes grew darker. "You know how Viktor and Yakov met, right?"

"Uh, only the media version. It is at least partially true, isn't it?" Yuuri asked disconcerted.

Georgi shook his head in surprised disappointment, his expression somber.

"He should have told you long ago. You ought to know... However, you won't hear a word about it from me, Viktor's story is Viktor's to tell..."

 _Oh, great, more secrets about Viktor! Love, will you ever drop the curtains and reveal yourself to me?_  Yuuri thought displeased and perturbed. In the meantime, Georgi continued:

"All I'll say is that Yakov was just starting out as a coach professionally and was looking for students and a place where to train them. He met both of us in early 1997. The years after the fall of the Soviet Union were hard in Russia, my family was as poor as they came, and all I knew about skating was from an old book I'd found; my parents couldn't afford any formal training for me. As for Viktor - he couldn't even skate properly, Yakov started him up from ground zero. So, the years passed, we progressed together on our rink, with borrowed skates and my parents paying Yakov some symbolical training fee. The season we were finally eligible to compete internationally as juniors was the 2002/03 one, but Viktor wasn't ready yet, and I wanted us to enter together..."

 _Georgi was ready, but Viktor wasn't?_ Yuuri pondered with bewilderment.

"It may sound funny to you now, but back then I was the one Yakov had higher hopes for. And I did my best to help Viktor out so that we could start out the following year. But life seldom goes down as planned, and as I announced at home the following year that I wanted to become a professional, it turned out my parents could in no way afford my travel costs. Yakov had thought so all along and relied on the Russian Ice Skating Federation to support us financially. But government funding for skating had nearly dried out, and what they offered to pay us wasn't enough. Subsequently, I got an offer to join a famous St. Petersburg figure skating club. They had private sponsors, too, and I would have been able to make it. Hadn't I turned them down, of course."

"But your future would have been secured..."

"Yes, but I wanted Yakov, Viktor, and our shabby old but also relatively independent local rink, not a government-controlled club where champions had to be produced at all costs. I owed Yakov everything, so I decided to keep him as my coach, wait a year and help earn my travel money. Another important decision-making factor was that my mother fell down with a serious case of pneumonia. She was sick for months, received her full salary from the local school she worked at, but she couldn't give private lessons. They brought a significant income home, and as my little sister contacted the illness, too, we had little money for hospitals and medication. So, I worked part-time every day at my father's shoe repairs shop, while he worked at a local factory... I had helped him out before, but never 20 hours or more a week. I barely had time to study and train with Yakov, I got through that school year by copying Viktor's homework and tests. He got through the skating season with a combined effort from all three of us, winning Worlds silver."

 _Well, I've helped out at the onsen, but 20 hours weekly means he had little to no time to skate on workdays!_ Yuuri thought with sympathy.

"So, by the 2004/05 season I had gathered some money, and Viktor even had some sponsors, so we weren't too poor. This was the year I was supposed to shine, and win medals in all competitions. Yakov couldn't hide his excitement... What happened? It turned out I had skipped training too often the previous year, and my skills had gotten rusty. Then, my girlfriend of two years decided to leave me. It rings some bells, right?" Georgi asked bitterly.

"It all went downhill from that point on. For a whole year, I had been gathering money only to get myself humiliated in the end, while Viktor had been gathering momentum which resulted in gold after gold."

"Don't get me wrong, I was happy for him, but my self-esteem got crushed very badly. My father didn't even want to hear about paying for skating lessons anymore and accused me of wasting my family's money. So, the following year I had to work again if I wanted to skate. So, I worked, skated, and flubbed another junior season thanks to stress and low self-esteem, while Viktor was battling against the seniors, von Düring above all."

An image of the ill-tempered, foul-mouthed athletic 1,90 meters tall Bernd von Düring floated in Yuuri's mind. _Battling is the right word,_ he confirmed.

"At the start of my third junior season, I sensed even Yakov losing faith in me. Yakov, who had believed in me more than he initially had in Viktor. I saw red for the whole season and broke all expectations as I grabbed every junior gold medal there was to take. Junior gold. It mattered little to me, in my own eyes I was a failure already."

"Georgi, you scored higher than von Düring did at the 2006 Grand Prix Final in Saint Petersburg. You would have placed second, had you skated at the senior Grand Prix."

"Second, Yuuri, not first. While I had been working for my father or had been busy being heartbroken, Viktor had gained an edge over me. I never managed to catch up with him, no matter how hard I tried. He grew more distant the more successful he became, and we seldom trained together. Oh, half of my following seasons fell victim to romantic relationships gone bad anyways..."

"Georgi, I had no idea how hard your life has been... I am so sorry." The reply didn't suffice to express Yuuri's feelings, but he found no better words to say.

"No need to be. I'm about to close the chapter of skating failures, poverty, and heartbreak. But I just can't have another miserable season. As Yakov said, I'd better quit right now than have some version of Carabosse all over again."

"Just don't get involved with anybody, please, you don't need the heartache!" Yuuri pleaded.

"Haha, I won't, if I fail the season it won't be Carabosse-que this time, it'll boil down to stress, trying too hard to be good, and worn-out choreography. So, that was the tragic story of Georgi Popovich aka the Juliet-less Romeo, Carabosse or simply the one who never fulfilled his potential." In his desire to change the topic, Georgi spotted Yuuri's empty plate. "Oh, I told you you'd love the Stroganoff, I'd better have a bite, too, before mine gets too cold."

Yuuri, emotional as he had gotten during Georgi's narration, had quickly gulped down his appetizing plate of beef and had switched to the remainings of his Olivier.

"Oh, it's delicious, it really is... You might just bring my appetite back with the help of your favorite dishes, Georgi. I'm not certain whether that is a good thing, though."  _I so can't become an overemotional food-consuming monster again..._

"It most definitely is. You've lost your color, my friend," the Russian remarked with concern.

Yuuri was touched by Georgi's caring expression.

"I am so grateful you invited me here tonight."

"I even more so. I don't get to bother people with my depressing life story often, and telling it all to somebody helps in letting it all go. I have to. Next year, I'll be somewhere far away from here. I don't want to drag my old problems with me to this brand-new chapter of my life."

A sense of melancholy fell over Yuuri at the notion of Georgi leaving Saint Petersburg. He didn't have to, but Yuuri understood his motives. Why would he want to stay and be constantly reminded of his figure skating past?

"Do you have any ideas where you'll go?"  _Somewhere close, please?_   "And what do you plan on doing?"

"Honestly, I'd gladly go to a foreign country where hardly anybody would know who I am. But English is the foreign language I know best, and I'm pretty terrible at it, so... I'd like to attend university, too, and I don't have the money to study abroad. With a skating career of my caliber, you earn little and even have to work to support yourself. Ironically, I work at a call center with my English part-time, but it's not like I got better at it while angry Englishmen shouted at me. All I earn there I spend on my skating, so I have little savings, too. Being realistic, I'll probably end up in Moscow, working and studying."

"Have you considered the subject for your studies already?" Yuuri said to lighten up the conversation.

"Graphic design in general, web design in particular. I've been trying to pick it up from online courses for some time, and I've even already developed a couple of simple websites from scratch. Mila has been acting as my PR, spreading the word about me. I even earned some actual cash. Hadn't Mila presented me as a professional freelancer, I'd probably have done it all for free."

"People with IT-related skills are sought-after," Yuuri remarked encouragingly but frowned all of a sudden. "Georgi, what you say about your English is bullshit, you even gained a British accent while talking to me! You sound great! I haven't heard you speak English so well before..."

"Oh, me and my English. I presume I have a decent knowledge of it. But I can't speak, I just can't. I get all nervous and sweaty and forget my entire vocabulary in front of strangers. As matter of fact, in front of everybody... What's the deal with you, Yuuri, you're making me sound somewhat OK in English?! I've just realized that I've been speaking without thinking of words this entire time!"

"You are great, Georgi! If you get a certificate and a scholarship, you'll be off to the UK or the USA in a year. Don't give up without trying."

"Certificate, scholarship... You're making it sound too easy, and it's not. As a precaution, I even speak in Russian during interviews, which has also cost me sponsors throughout the years... But better speak somewhat confidently in Russian, than embarrass yourself in English."

"Georgi. You will get your certificate, I promise you that," Yuuri assured with determination.

"Oh, I appreciate your desire to help, but I have to remain skeptical for my own good. Getting my hopes up and failing - I doubt I can live through that again."

"My skating career was a disaster until Viktor came along. You never know when things might take a drastic turn for the better."

"I really hope things work out for the two of you. If you've heard me talk ill about Viktor, forget it. Whatever bad I say about him, I never really mean it. He's like a brother to me, even though the feeling is not mutual."

For another consecutive time, Yuuri got impressed by Georgi's good-heartedness. _Hm, Viktor does talk rarely about you, though, why wouldn't he reciprocate the feelings after all you've gone through together?_ Making a mental note to think about this later, Yuuri gave free reign to his newfound admiration of Georgi Popovich.

"You are a very very very good person, why haven't we talked to each other like this before?!"

"Blame it on my bad English. And you're a little bit shy, Yuuri, aren't you? You hang out only with the blonde devil probably because he's the evil you know. You didn't take a chance with either me or Mila."

"Uh, you're probably right," Yuuri blushed, remembering avoiding both Georgi and Mila out of fear they wouldn't like him.

"Well, now we actually have our beginning friendship to thank Lidia for," Georgi laughed, making Yuuri frown. "Oh, come on, she's bad alright, but not as bad as you think she is. She actually skipped several shows at the Bolshoi to teach Mila ballet for her junior debut. Oh, that's why Mila was so angry today... She looks up to Lidia, but the prima ballerina didn't even say hello to her. What happened to Viktor happened to her, too - the more famous, the more distant, bordering on arrogant. That's why, if not an SSZ, Viktor is arrogant grey hair for me."

The way Georgi talked about Viktor, the unexpected apparent desire to hurt in his last statement put Yuuri off. "But, Georgi, what you said about insulting Viktor..."

"I know, I know, the fact that we used to be close and now we barely talk without insulting each other bugs me, and we've grown so used to insulting each other to the point that it's become a habit... I hate it. And mind my words, Yuuri, he needs you more than you think. I doubt he has many true friends, back at school I was his only friend... Now, Giacometti whom I can't stand is probably his only close person."

 _Who does Viktor go out with at night then? Random men and women? One-night stands?_  Yuuri immediately changed the focus of his thoughts so that he wouldn't freak out. "You said Lidia wasn't so bad. I say Chris isn't. He isn't my favorite person in the world, but he can be good company."

"Oh, don't try it, you can't convince me. We just don't get along. I even suspected that Viktor let Christophe tag along with him as a living shield against my communicating with him on competitions."

"Why would he do that?"

"I'm a thing of the past for him; he probably doesn't like reminders of what it was like not to be the Viktor Nikiforov he is today. What's more, Christophe worships him, while I occasionally call him an SSZ."

The final witty remark made Yuuri smile. "He is a little bit prideful - if you reduce the SSZs..."

"I try, and who knows, maybe one day we'll be friends again... Or not, this sounded too much like my naive hopes to get Anya back, or Marya, or Nadya... The list goes on and on."

"I have no idea why your relationships haven't worked out, Georgi, you are a wonderful person."

"Thank you, but I have an explanation of sorts. You see, my parents have never been in love. They probably married because getting married early used to be a must during Soviet times, tradition, too. They've never even gotten along well; family feuds happen every day. So, foolish teenage me made a vow to find true love. I've been looking for it ever since, and every time in the wrong person. I'm too idealistic and too prone to forgive what shouldn't be forgiven for the sake of love."

"You know what, I might have just come up with a song for your short program! It's called "In and out of love", thematically perfect for you. Just wait a minute," Yuuri said with enthusiasm, grabbing his phone and headphones, and played the song for Georgi.

"This DJ's music is not my thing, but nothing modern is. Still, the woman, Sharon, has a beautiful voice. And I've been very much falling in and out of love for my entire career..." Hearing the song again, Georgi remedied, "Well, I can live with the music, but the vocalist with the beautiful voice looks suspiciously like Anya!" Immediately afterward the skater flushed embarrassedly. "Oh, I'm hopeless, aren't I? If Sharon was blond, I'd have said she was a copy of Nadya."

"Poor you. Come to think that I've been complaining about my love life half of the evening..."

"Ah, you had plenty to complain about, too, Viktor better be prepared for a face-off tonight!"

As Yuuri's face grew strained, Georgi added, "Be honest with him and don't be afraid to cut to the chase. He has to know what's bothering you. If anyone has to be anxious about the face-off, it's him."

"Thank you for the support," Yuuri's lips curved into a faint smile.

"Thank you for the thank you, but there's no need to thank me."

Yuuri's smile grew wider.

"I love the Georgi-speak, feel free to use your odd English whenever you like around me."

"Ah, don't give me a free pass, you are the only person with whom I can talk in normal English. By the way, may I check something on your phone? I left mine in the car."

"Sure, help yourself"

As Georgi was browsing the Internet, Yuuri summarized the daily events in his mind, thinking that it hadn't been such a bad day after all. He had learned more about Viktor, made a new friend, as for Lidia... There had to be an explanation. Yuri had said so, Georgi had said so, it had to be true.

"Don't read the news," Georgi's voice sounded in a warning, catching the Japanese off-guard. "Yuuri, promise me you won't. Not before you've spoken with Viktor."

"What?" Yuuri felt his body grow numb, his limbs - cold and sweaty. "What is it, Georgi?"

"No! I won't tell you! Please, Yuuri, talk to Viktor first."

"About what? What has happened?" Yuuri's mind raced. Was Viktor...  _No, he must be alright if Georgi expects me to talk to him! Lidia! It must have something to do with her!_

"Georgi, give me my phone back right now!" the Japanese demanded in a raised voice that attracted odd looks from the other guests of the restaurant.

"Yuuri, it's for your own good not to..."

"Let's not make a scene. Even if you keep my phone, the first thing I'll do when I get back will be to check the news on my laptop!"

"But maybe Viktor will be home..."

"Viktor is never home, Georgi, never! I wait and wait, but he never comes, he's never there when I need him! So give me my goddamned phone back!"

Since Yuuri's fit started attracting more attention and the last thing Georgi wanted was an article in the yellow press, titled "Gay Figure Skater Katsuki Yuuri Heartbroken", he conceded.

As Yuuri took the smartphone, an uncanny calmness settled over him, steadying his rampant heartbeats and making his body feel loose, almost weightless. Several clicks away lay his freedom - in mere seconds he would see for himself undisprovable evidence that Viktor Nikiforov did not love him, and the vicious circle of hoping, wondering, caring, loving and being let down all over again would be broken. By getting hurt one final time, he would once and for all be free of the spell Viktor had put on him.

That he didn't want to be free didn't matter - the feeling, this fear was part of the vicious circle, it would soon disappear...

And then, it appeared - the photograph. Viktor and Lidia, kissing, on 17.06.2017 in Peterhof Park, surrounded by natural beauty and a vast crowd of people. Yuuri gave out a muffled cry of pain - the hurt was expected, but he hadn't imagined it would feel so real, so physical - as if a dagger was being run through his chest. His limbs grew cold, his fingers felt clumsy, made out of plasticine, when he clicked on a fan video of the kiss. He had to see it all, for his love to finally vanish, for the pain to burn it out of him.

Lidia looked majestic in the elaborately ornamented bordeaux petticoat dress. As did Viktor, in ceremonial light red gold-patterned clothing. The crowd erupted when their lips met in a passionate kiss that Viktor reproached, laying his hand gently on Lidia's back... Then they stood in each other's embraces, with color in their cheeks and stars shining in their eyes.

The images burned, but it wasn't Yuuri's love they were destroying, but Yuuri himself. He felt he was coming apart, right in the middle of the restaurant, a restaurant, again, what was it that linked heartbreak with restaurants?

Viktor and Lidia, Lidia and Viktor, together again, beautiful as ever, Russia's perfect match... The fragments of the half-read news article were flooding Yuuri's mind, while he was trying to run away from the pain, from his still very existent love towards Viktor, from a worried Georgi calling his name. Georgi, who would have left an unpaid bill and a lovely poodle at the restaurant to follow Yuuri if he didn't know that in a moment of heartbreak nothing and nobody could truly help you. It was best suffered alone, all friends could do was help the victim get back on their feet in the wake of it.

"I just saw it, too, Zhora, but it seems very fake," a voice interrupted Georgi's thoughts, as he absent-mindedly pulled out a couple of banknotes from his wallet.

"Fake?" the skater repeated, still distracted by gloomy thoughts.

"Both their expressions after the kiss, their answers to Pasha's questions... I don't know why they did the whole interview, but they don't look like a couple to me. Look more carefully, and you'll see," Ivan, the brown-haired waiter, explained.

"Oh, I don't need to look more carefully to know those two just can't suddenly be in love, but go tell that to Yuuri and Pasha Izmirliev, that gossiper!" Georgi said, fuming. "The damage is done, Vanya, whatever Viktor's motivations. Frankly, I don't see how he can make this right," he added, shaking his head.

 _Why are you standing in the way of your own happiness, Viktor?_  the skater wondered sadly, as he drove home with a clueless Makkachin sitting next to him.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

Meanwhile, in a sophisticated business skyscraper, in a different part of town, two automatic office doors swished open. Behind a large mahogany desk, a well-built, statuesque auburn-haired man was sitting on a black leather chair and looking with concentration at the screen of a dark metallic laptop.

"Julia, bringst du mir die Dokumente über…"

The businessman looked at the door and immediately fell silent, his striking, slightly predatory features softening. On instinct, he got up and uttered one word: "Viktor." While the unfinished sentence addressed at his secretary had sounded stern and business-like, Viktor's name he pronounced warmly with only the faintest note of surprise.

The owner of the name froze at the door.

 _I really am expected?_  he thought, still unnerved.

"Uhm, hello… Herr von Düring."

"Herr von Düring? Should I call you Nikiforov, then?" the older man said disapprovingly with a raised eyebrow.

These two questions succeeded in breaking the ice, and Viktor smiled confidently.

"No, it's gospodin Nikiforov to you, lieber Herr."

"My fault, all my fault, уважаемый господин Никифоров."

"I love your Russian accent!" Viktor exclaimed unadulteratedly.

"Laugh at me as much as you please, but your German is no better," von Düring retorted with a spark of anger.

"But I do find your Russian accent cute, I wasn't laughing at you!" Viktor simultaneously defended himself and tried to appease his former adversary.

"I know," the German answered, a luminous smile spreading across his face, transforming his razor-sharp collarbones, expressive cheekbones, and unsettling dark brown hunter's gaze. The end result was a charming, bold and naughty, yet honest and warm-hearted young man at about Viktor's age.

Viktor himself blinked wordlessly, fallen under the spell of the transformation. Then he shook his head.

"You just love toying with me."

Von Düring grinned, some of the sharpness of his expression returning. At that moment, he almost looked like he had during his final skating years.

"You don't age," Viktor accidentally uttered his thoughts aloud.

"Neither do you," von Düring observed objectively.

"So I still look 18 to you?!"  _Not that I looked bad, of course, but now I truly look like a man!_

The German sighed.

"No, of course not. Let's say that we don't age, only mature."

"Those two terms can be synonymous," Viktor snapped, scowling.

"Not in our case. You see, I might look younger than my age, but on the inside I am certainly not my 27-year-old angsty self. And you… Well, you're not 18, but you haven't quite caught up to your official age, either. I'd say you've stayed 23 for the past several years. Forever young. I like this about you, Viktor. Of course, it can bring a person to the edge sometimes. But that's part of the fun."

Viktor was captivated by the animated, appreciative look von Düring was giving him.

"I liked you even at 27," was all the Russian could blurt out.

"You can't be serious. I don't and nor did I back then."

The German's face had turned scornful. He looked again like he did on his desk right when Viktor entered, like somebody not to be trifled with. "Honestly, I was 27 and acted like an angry teenager," he added, his voice growing slightly milder.

"Well, well. In that case, you certainly can't have reached your ancient age of 38 years in terms of maturity."

"I beg to differ. I am a very responsible nearly 40-year-old," von Düring declared proudly and self-assuredly.

"Yeah, right," was all Viktor graced his remark with. The former skater narrowed his eyes menacingly.

"You don't believe me?" However, all of a sudden, he laughed and continued, "Take that chair and sit down, before we've started arguing for real. If you're on your feet when it happens, you'll just make a demonstrative exit during the middle of the argument and we won't have the opportunity to make peace, and banter some more."

"So, according to you, I am the drama queen here?" Viktor asked with a slight note of acidity, as he followed von Düring's advice.

"To be blunt, yes. You get insulted by everything!"

"That's not true!" Viktor exclaimed, ready for a verbal fight.

The German shook his head.

"I refuse to engage in an argument or any sort of discussion about your personality, gospodin Nikiforov. You'll most certainly walk out on me, and neither of us wants that. You came here today for a reason."

"And what reason would that be?" Viktor inquired, appearing unperturbed. "Also, why did your secretary say I was expected?"

Von Düring's sharp features instantly gained a predatory edge, boding danger. Viktor's hair bristled.

"Julia's started poking her nose way too much in my affairs. I will have a talk with her."

Viktor knew one thing – he didn't want to be in Julia's place.

"Obviously, she told you the truth. I knew you would come tonight. I'm still here because I've been waiting for you. You are here because you always come to meet me when we end up close to each other due to work obligations. There was no way you would miss the day I'm in your hometown, so close to your return to skating at 28, after a one year gap. Not to mention your simultaneously coaching your love interest, which is crazy if you ask me."

"No, it's not. It's going perfectly fine."

"We agreed not to lie to each other a long time ago, Viktor. Unless you lay down your cards, we're only wasting each other's time."

"I haven't come here to talk about Yuuri. I don't talk about him with anybody."

"Of course, I didn't mean to ask anything more personal anyway. But training and coaching at the same time, at your age…"

"You mean I should have been training somebody when I was 20? What a great coach I would have been back then!" Viktor fought back with sarcasm as a way to escape the disturbing questions.

"Tell me what to do to make you talk, and I'll do it," Bernd von Düring commanded, leaning across his desk and looking the skater straight in the eyes from a disturbingly close distance.

Viktor chased away several indecent ideas that made him thoroughly embarrassed with himself.

_God, I'm losing my mind…_

Von Düring took in the uneasiness emanating from Viktor's entire frame and had little clue how to react or how exactly to interpret it. He followed the only suggestion his mind managed to produce.

"You don't feel like talking? Then I will. I never quite was in the position you're in right now. But I was in a similarly bad one. I got beaten to the gold at the height of my career by a rising Russian figure skating prodigy. In that very same boy's hometown. It was a nightmare, easily the worst night in my life."

"It was the worst night in your life?! Thank you very much, Bernd von Düring, now I at least know why you wanted nothing to do with me for years afterward!"

"God damn it, Viktor, I meant the competition, not what happened between us later on…" the businessman looked sideways, avoiding eye-contact.

Viktor stroke his chin with one hand in a thoughtful manner.

"What happened between us, hmm? Well, what was it that happened between us that night, Bernd?"

The German made himself look at him.

"I took advantage of you."

Viktor's eyes widened in genuine surprise and anger.

"You did? How come? Maybe I was the one who took advantage of your sorry state after I kicked your ass at the Grand Prix Final!"

Something snapped inside Bernd von Düring, and words that he had held up inside for years sprang out, shouted in a flurry of fury and self-loathing.

"Damn you, boy, do you realize what I could have done to you that night? I was out of my mind when you came knocking. I could have thrown you out of the window! Or… Or beaten the life out of you, for God's sake!"

"Bernd, you're being ridiculous, you wouldn't have," Viktor said in what he hoped was a calming manner while hiding his shock at the amount of raw emotion the simple memory of that night induced in his one-time rival.

_After all these years… He's ashamed of himself, blaming himself! For things he would never have done!_

"You can't know that, Viktor. No one can. Nor do you know how I felt when your free skate score was announced… Being the three-year consecutive champion, I thought I was invincible. My coach had been trying to scare me off for years with tales of the Russian child prodigies Georgi and Viktor, but Georgi's junior scores were terrible, and your first senior year didn't turn out too threatening, so, in my arrogance, I never, not once assumed either of you could beat me before I chose to retire."

Von Düring sighed. Viktor was standing still, his attention gripped to the fullest. Von Düring rarely spoke that much about himself and never about the 2nd night of the 2006 ISU Grand Prix Final.

"And then came the day when here, in good old Saint Petersburg, in an ice rink packed with overexcited Russians, many of whom had hooted down my performances, my free skate score was announced, and in an instant, it was all over for me. The hall roared with shouts and applause for you, while I was struggling to comprehend how it had come to this, how it was even possible. My coach, let him rest in peace, had warned me anything could happen, but I hadn't listened."

Viktor looked at his former adversary, wishing he could find the right words to say, but as so often before, they eluded him. He perfectly understood his now friend, he was aware of how enormously proud a person Bernd was, and this made listening to the encounter plain painful.

"Soon afterward, the awarding ceremony followed, or the parade of shame, as I named it. I had thought of leaving beforehand, but I wanted to punish myself and live through the humiliation. People hooted as I entered and took my place. As I was given the silver, too. And when you were awarded your medal and the Russian hymn sounded, everybody stood up and started singing along. I felt like a single German soldier caught in the then still Leningrad right after the end of the city's German siege from World War Two. Alone and surrounded by the triumphant enemies that hated him with their guts. The conclusion: any people who claim sport wasn't political should go kill themselves," von Düring scoffed, settling some semblance of order over his errant emotions.

"Bernd…"

"Don't. I've gone through the 2006 GPF over and over with Frau Steinmeier. I've no idea why I got so emotional right now, more than a decade later."

"Frau Steinmeier is the best psychologist, by far, but maybe you needed to talk about it with somebody else. Somebody who understands."

"Viktor! Don't go with that statement again!" von Düring yelled out, his self-control crumbling again.

"I went with it in the first place, because it was true. After the awarding ceremony, Yakov dragged me to his house, where a huge number of people were getting drunk, because I had been fortunate enough to steal the gold from you! What business of theirs was it, anyway?"

"But, wait, you earned the gold fair and…"

"Shut up and listen!" Viktor interrupted, his eyes burning with the conflicting emotions of a 17-year-old, whose entire life had changed in the course of a single evening. "So, people congratulated me, many of them strangers. Yakov had obviously forgotten what it was to be a top skater, because the entire time he was just the exuberant coach of the current GP champion, not bothering to realize that I felt like some exotic animal on display for drunk grown-ups. Thank God Georgi, who felt even less like celebrating than I did, showed up from somewhere and managed to bring me outside. He handed me a glass of wine, his jacket and wallet, and told me to go spend the night the way I wanted to. As soon as he went back in, I knew where I wanted to be."

"In the hotel room of another drunk grown-up?"

Viktor pressed a finger to his mouth in contemplation, completely ignoring the provocation in Bernd's question.

"Hm, you weren't drunk. Well, maybe a little."

Von Düring shook his head.

"You should have stayed at Yakov's."

"Bullshit I should have!" the skater disagreed passionately.

"Viktor, you were 17, I was 27, it had been an emotional night for both of us, and it was your first time ever! Damn it, such things should be punishable by law!" the German said in a raised voice.

"Believe it or not, sometimes I think it would have been better had I beat you up a little and thrown you out instead! Out of the door, not the window, of course," von Düring made sure to clarify.

"You prefer to have committed something I could have actually sued you for instead of sleeping with me?" Viktor's eyes were icy-blue, concealing his bruised sense of self-worth.

"I prefer you had stayed home. Or gotten drunk in a bar with Georgi. Or anything else that wouldn't have involved my sleeping with a child."

"I wasn't a child, Bernd! I was not! I was getting 18 in days, and I knew what I wanted when I came to you," Viktor said in a high-pitched voice, blushing bright red.

"And how the hell did you even know I was bisexual? I hadn't until I turned 24!" von Düring countered with the first thing that came to his mind.

"I didn't," Viktor uttered silently, looking away.

"What?" the German said in shock, his feet carrying him out of the chair and across the room. He stopped in front of the massive window, took a deep breath and looked at Viktor again, his eyes full of pain.

"You came to me to rape you?"

"No, I didn't! It would have been consensual on my part," Viktor vehemently disagreed, convinced his face had never been as red as it was right then. "What's more, I thought you'd most probably throw me out on sight. I figured the best I could get would be a conversation with a man who'd gone through what I was going through. What I wanted the most, of course, was you, but I didn't even dare hope I could have you."

"And you never considered that even if, according to you, the very heterosexual von Düring agreed, it would be with the sole purpose of hurting you? Violent intercourse with a consenting partner is damn well rape for me!"

"I… Hoped you wouldn't hurt me. And you didn't. I couldn't believe how… gentle you were, I hadn't imagined you could be that gentle with anybody, least of all me." In that moment, Viktor couldn't believe he was telling von Düring about how he had felt during… During the man that had talked dismissively about him in public and offended him in private, the man whose gold he had snatched away, during that same attractive and frightening man was touching him with such care as though Viktor was a one-of-a-kind wonder the man feared he might spoil.  _Oh, damn it, how did the conversation come this far?!_

Meanwhile, von Düring himself flushed at the unexpected feedback, his dark eyes displaying tenderness, and regret.

"But I wanted to hurt you. I couldn't, though. How could I hurt you, you, with your long soft silver hair, wide bright-blue still boyish eyes, and your lean body, which wasn't quite the body of a man either?"

"When will you finally comprehend that I wasn't a child?!" Viktor exclaimed angrily, getting on his feet as well.

"Imagine sleeping with Yuri Plisetsky, and you'll get the picture!" von Düring fired back.

The notion scandalized Viktor, but he soon recovered, ready to defend his point again.

"I was nearly two years older than Yuri, and you were nearly two years younger than I am now. If you want a realistic comparison, replace Yuri with… I don't know, Mila or JJ. Not that the idea of my sleeping with them isn't equally disturbing, but they are somewhat more mature than Yuri."

"They look grown-up, too, which you didn't back then, Viktor. You can't deny that you mostly had the looks of a teenager."

"At least you didn't say a child," Viktor scowled. Von Düring rubbed his forehead in an attempt to get rid of the mild headache Viktor had unintentionally gifted him.

"Someone so should have sent me to jail…"

"Well, Yakov would have, if he could."

"I thought he would simply kill me, without bothering with lawyers and courtrooms," von Düring said, recalling the murderous look Yakov had given him as he had figured out what had happened between his precious Vitya and the hateful German swine during the night.

"He did want to if my memory serves me right," Viktor confirmed.

"Damn, the man just had to show up at my door that morning! It was the most embarrassing thing that's happened to me! The most terrible evening followed by the most embarrassing morning. I had such a blast at my last GPF," von Düring complained. To his further mortification, Viktor laughed.

"In retrospect, it's fun to know Yakov Feltsman managed to upset Bernd von Düring, the notorious Eisenkaiser on Ice."

"Don't involve the stupid moniker. Furthermore, if I'm the man of steel, they should have just called me Superman. Or Iron Man, Eisenmann sounds threatening, too."

"Nah, they called you something better – the iron Kaiser! I like the nickname."

"I don't; it's too political for my taste. A couple of insane fans even wanted me to run for chancellor. I was the Eisenkaiser, who'd make united Germany great again and so on. Trump and Hitler would have eaten themselves out of envy, had I gotten involved in politics."

"Haha, you would have made a solid evil dictator," an amused Viktor responded, picturing a glowering young von Düring in a sharp suit, cornered by journalists, a stark contrast to the man in front of him who looked made to wear formal attire.

"That's why I work in the private sector. I love Mercedes-Benz. I help manufacture the cars I love. No political agenda required. Well, maybe some departments of the company are somewhat politically charged and morally ambiguous, but they don't concern me."

"Bernd Axel von Düring. From top figure skater to top employer of the top company in the motor industry, Daimler AG."

"What can I say, I love being on top of things," Bernd stated smugly. "And that just sounded wrong, didn't it?" he added, his smile suddenly getting erased.

"Factually it was accurate, its dirtier meaning included," came Viktor's teasing response.

Von Düring furrowed his brow.

"Viktor, that night… I believe both you and I had been… fascinated with each other for some time, but, being rivals, we pushed those feelings away, trying to hate each other instead. And that night, all the subdued emotions erupted… I most certainly couldn't look at you as something more than my rival before. And you don't sleep with your rivals; you beat them on the ice. But before you arrived in my hotel room, I had already considered retiring. So, when you walked in and I got a hint of where you were going with your loosely connected sentences, the greater part of me just saw in you an insanely handsome and talented boy that happened to want me, too. And I really needed somebody that night."

"So did I," Viktor admitted with a sad half-smile. "But I got to tell you, the whole story about the subdued attraction seems suspiciously like the brainchild of Frau Steinmeier."

"You consider me too shallow to have come to such conclusions on my own? Oh, well, you're right. She made me realize it."

Viktor grinned. "Better late than never."

"Yes, Viktor, better late than never. Time is ticking away, so, please, tell me what's bothering you. Training Yuuri while trying to regain your form? Whether you'll be as good as before on the ice? I can't offer you Frau Steinmeier's expertise, but I will do my best to help you."

"If I wanted her advice, I would have paid her a visit already…" Viktor said while wondering what to ask von Düring. "Hmm. Both your questions bother me. But the worst of it all is probably what will happen to me if I flub the season. And what will become of me after I retire."

"Whether you do good this year or not won't have any reflection on your achievements so far. You will still be Viktor Nikiforov, five-time consecutive figure skating champion. Your will to go on is what counts the most. I wasn't as brave. I couldn't stand the prospect of potential losses, so I copped out. Your decision to return speaks volumes about your character."

_Will. Champion. Character. What would he think were he able to look inside me and see for himself how much of those three words is left in there?_

"You sound like a pro-Viktor journalist. Fine. What about the unclear ever after?"

"It's very simple. Look at your retirement like a new beginning. There must be something you've wanted to do with your life besides skating. Also, think about what subjects you liked at school. Sum it all up, and see where it leads you. And don't be afraid to go to college, there are plenty of 30-year-olds there, I speak from experience. Well, the majority are in the master's programmes, but you can always find people to hang out with."

"So, you've always wanted to be a businessman?"

"I've always wanted to be well-off. I was good at maths, a prerequisite to being good at economics. I didn't want to be directly responsible for people's futures at work, which excluded plenty of jobs in the public sector and some in the private, too. So, I became a businessman. Whatever I do, doesn't really affect much anybody."

Viktor raised an eyebrow. "Says the very responsible nearly 40-year-old?"

"I am responsible for my family. Three lives are directly linked to mine. That's as much responsibility as I'd have hanging on my shoulders, thank you."

"Oh, yes. You went on to get married and have children. Something I can never have."

The near-accusation permeating the skater's words unsettled von Düring.

"Viktor, you are engaged. You can't get married in Russia, but there are plenty of countries where you can. Where you'll be free to adopt as many children as you'd like, too."

"So, I guess I'll just take my home rink, Russia-loving Yakov, the two Yuris, Mila, Georgi with his great English, and a couple of child skaters and migrate to a warmer and gay-friendlier climate? Say, California? So long to all the leather boots and fat coats! And screw the White Nights, too!"

"Of course not! You grab your Japanese Yuuri and build a new life for yourselves together, that should be your plan. All the rest can do fine without you. Take Yuri Plisetsky, for instance. The boy had a gold medal spree, while you were in Hasetsu."

"The boy also got injured and skated that way at the Worlds, taking after somebody he admires, some Eisenkaiser," Viktor threw Bernd an unimpressed look. "He did not want to hear a word I said because I was the coach of the competition."

"That's why I don't want to be in the public eye and influence people. But Yuri is his own person, in the end. If Yakov couldn't make him see reason, what chance did you stand?"

"He listens to me more than he listens to, quote, that crazy old man Yakov. I'm the big brother figure. Yakov is a father figure. Teenagers rebel against their superiors – the more superior, the more rebellion-worth."

"I'm glad my kids haven't entered that phase yet," Bernd remarked, unwilling to imagine what would become of his already impish 8-year-olds in puberty. "But Yuri Plisetsky is not your responsibility. He has Yakov, and he has his family."

"He's in great relations with the latter. The reason he fails his new short program. But that's a different story. Anyway, it was a mistake to come here today. My life is more complicated than you think and I don't want to explain myself or dump my problems on you. I am the only person that can help Viktor Nikiforov out of the mess he's found himself in…"

However, von Düring had no intention of letting Viktor go without reaching a resolution.

"Hold on a second and tell me again why you can't take Yuuri to, fine, California next year, and dump in the thrash your winter coats together with your past!"

"Because 1. I have to train Yuuri, so I can't really dump figure skating the way you did; 2. A hundred other reasons you know nothing about. Last year was me taking the easy way out and finding out shortcuts don't work."

"So it all boils down to many important things you don't want to tell me?" a displeased von Düring snapped.

"Yes, and Yuuri's coaching. I have to stay in figure skating. There's no escape for me."

_Dump skating, escape... Is this what he really wants? In this case, why is he making a come-back? Vitya, you are the most confusing person I know! I advised you to do the healthiest thing - start over, but I knew you'd most probably like to do something skating-related. Seems that I was mistaken, and that's a good thing. Then what's dragging you back to your past, Vitya?_

"You can find Yuuri a new coach," the businessman suggested in his quest to release his friend from the bonds that tied him to figure skating.

"Yuuri had a good, experienced coach before me, and he quit skating. He had me for a year, and he won actual medals."  _Give up, Bernd, I promised my baby to stay with him until he retires!_

"Maybe he just had a lover posing as a coach for a year, was happier and got more motivated to win. Now he can have both a lover and a professional coach."

"So, I am not a professional coach?"

"No, you're not. People attend university to get coaching credentials."

"Not everybody. And who would you rather have – Viktor Nikiforov, or a college-bred coach who was never much good at skating himself?" the figure skating champion asked, his posture and bearing bursting with self-confidence.

"We're going off topic! Seriously, Viktor, it's getting late, and I'm flying to Moscow early tomorrow. Frankly, I could have saved myself the trip to Saint Petersburg, since I've little work here – I'm coordinating the opening of the new Mercedes factory that's being built in Moscow, as you well know. I came here in case you wanted to talk. But, obviously, you don't want to do that, so…"

"Everybody is flying to Moscow tomorrow." The self-assured Viktor Nikiforov was gone, replaced by a forlorn young man with a distraught gaze.

"Am I supposed to ask now who you mean under everybody?" von Düring inquired, his frustration slightly abating at the swift shift in Viktor's mood.

"Lidia Davydova."

"Ah, the famous ballerina you dated because… Why did you, really?! What was this dating women period of yours all about?"

"Well, you ghosted me after the 2007 Worlds, and the first thing I heard about you was that you'd gotten married. Convenient, wasn't it? I just tried my luck with the fair sex, too, but things didn't work out for me."

"Of course they didn't! You were more than aware of your sexual orientation. Why did you do that to yourself? You can't just snap out of homosexuality!"

"I had to try. For the sake of an uncomplicated lifestyle, Yakov's peace of mind, money and fame in homophobic Russia… Oh, and to get back at you for screwing me by screwing me, cutting off all contact with me, and getting married to a woman." Viktor was more than perturbed by the fact that he was holding Bernd responsible for what he didn't believe he had the right to, and yet, he couldn't help himself not to. A part of him felt entitled to do it, wanted to shout at the man for letting him go without looking back.

"I had a years-long relationship to that woman way before I knew a thing about you or my bisexuality! She broke up with me because I couldn't control my temper and she didn't like the man I was turning into. She is a very principled, strong woman and you have no idea what it took me to win her back! I chose her over 18-year-old you, and I'd do it again because you and I would never have lasted. With my temper problems, your rebellious youth, and the physical, cultural and age distance between us, we would have only hurt each other. I severed our connection for both our good."

"Go back in time and tell this nice speech to 18-year-old me, who wanted you and whom you left."

"I tried in the morning, just before Yakov came, but you didn't listen, Viktor. You never listen to anyone."

"I don't listen to people who give up without trying."

"I don't waste my time on doomed relationships."

The two men were standing face to face, dark brown and sky-blue eyes transfixed by one another.

"Goodbye." Viktor broke eye-contact and reached for his cardigan, which he had taken off some time ago.

"Ah, here you go again. Walking out on me."

"I've decided not to waste my time on doomed relationships, too," the skater used von Düring's words against him.

"Viktor, why did you come here at all?"

"Hm, it seems you have no idea, after all. Take your phone," the Russian ordered icily.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Fine. Now what?" von Düring grunted, not believing that he was actually following Viktor's commands after enduring his mood swings and ranting.

"Look up the news about me today. Better write my name in Russian."

"Alright. Wait, what?" Von Düring's eyes widened in disbelief, before narrowing accusingly. He turned the phone's screen so that Viktor could see the picture of himself and Lidia, kissing.

"Will you have a go at explaining yourself?" the German asked in a steel voice.

Viktor's sky-blue eyes turned a melancholic light-grey.

"This is what Yuuri might be doing right now. Scrolling through photos of Lidia kissing me."

"Excuse me, but you seem to be actively participating in that kiss, too."

"I had no choice," Viktor defended himself, suddenly feeling a strange weight pressing down on his chest. He gulped for air, a sense of panic overcoming him.

"One always has a choice."

"Not when you're both a gay figure skater and in Russia, of all places! The only reason why I still have any Russian sponsors and endorsements left is the fact that the light kiss I gave Yuuri during the Cup of China got hidden behind my shoulder on camera, and nobody confirmed the engagement because I made them to! My spotless track list of girlfriends has also kept the local media from full-on tarnishing my straight reputation, but the rumors are growing, and the yellow press won't leave me alone. On top of that, the Winter Olympics are drawing in, and homosexuals are never quite welcome there. I have Olympic gold already, and it's not such a big deal for me, but I don't want to hurt Yuuri's chances of winning. To sum it all up: if everybody's convinced I'm straight, both our net worth and likeability among judges and audience grow."

"Fuck the Russian sponsors! It's the 21st century, damn it, you must have plenty of international broad-minded ones. About the judges… They are a conservative lot, that's true. I still hate the idiots that gave me such a pathetic score when I skated to a Metallica instrumental! But, Viktor, if the discrimination is too obvious, you can sue their homophobic old wrinkly asses like hell!" Von Düring's infamous foul mouth made a comeback, making him sound a lot like 16-year-old Yuri Plisetsky. Or at least so thought Viktor, unsure whether he could deal with his friend's temper. Moreover, while Yuri could be a pain, von Düring, in his youth, had been on a whole different level of rebellious and non-conforming, bordering on violent.

"Chris tried to sue them once. He's the only openly gay top skater, and they intentionally lowered his score at the 2014 Sochi Olympics, so that he wouldn't receive bronze. He was about to press charges, but they offered him money to avoid a public scandal with a promise not to discriminate against him again. He took the money because the sum wasn't insignificant, he feared a trial could damage his career, and the new anonymous judging system makes it hard to prove anything. As soon as he retires, though, this story will be all over the media."

"He should have pressed charges. Nothing will change if everybody keeps quiet." The reply sounded like the long dissatisfied growl of a huge dangerous dog.

"I, with my publicity stunts with Lidia, certainly can't blame him. But I believe matters will truly change only once the LGBTQ community gets wider understanding and acceptance around the whole world. And this is a process that will take decades."

"It will take more time if the victims refuse to speak up," von Düring held his ground.

"We have anti-gay propaganda laws in Russia. Speaking up might land you in jail. Honestly, I don't even know how I got away with my long hair and androgynous costumes as a teenager."

"All the rock stars have long hair, and only a few of them are gay! I had long hair for a time, as well."

"Bernd, in male figure skating anything more traditionally feminine gets frowned at. I doubt anyone makes rock stars references." Viktor sighed with annoyance.

"Look, I know being gay in sports as a whole is sometimes frowned upon, but I've never realized there was a discrimination spreading to the extent you're talking about… Maybe because I was even portrayed in an article once as a representation of toxic masculinity, which was  _entirely_  false by the way, but I was, so to say, at the opposite end of the masculinity spectrum in the public eye."

"Entirely is a strong word, don't you think?" the Russian taunted. Bernd Axel had duly earned a huge chunk of his bad reputation, after all.

"You think I'm a toxic man? How toxic can I be with my love for gay men?" von Düring inquired, his dark eyes glittering provocatively.

Viktor simply shrugged nonchalantly, but he could swear his body temperature had just risen by 1 degree Celsius.

_Oh my God, this man and his sex appeal. He can drive anyone crazy… I wager that works out for him nicely in his current job. I pity the poor souls he's negotiated with._

"Is this a poker face staring contest, Viktor?"

"Oh, sorry, I was just thinking about things… Which brings me to what I wanted to ask you in the first place. So, Bernd Axel von Düring, with your self-proclaimed love for homosexual men, would you agree to come out publicly and take a stand for gay rights?"

In a split-second, all sympathy and friendliness were erased from von Düring's face, baring its sharp edges and slightly predatory features. His eyes turned cold and calculating.

_Oh, Nikiforov, this is no Chris Giacometti to seduce his way out of trouble. This man annihilates trouble._

"Let me get this straight, Viktor. You kissed a woman on TV for money. You feel bad about it because of your fiancé and because it was a cop-out from standing up for your rights. Therefore, you've come to me, to make me defend something you're too chicken to defend?"

"I will confess everything sooner or later, but how much will my word weigh after all of my publicity stunts? What's more, with my long hair and the girly costumes I used to wear I might only serve to confirm the gay stereotypes. The coming out of a manly family man like yourself will be much more influential than mine."

"First of all, I'm not even gay. Second of all, as you mentioned, I have a family, and I don't want them in the spotlight because of my bisexuality, which they don't even know about as of yet. Third of all, I don't want my family to know anything about my bisexuality, thank you. And last but not least, I wouldn't do anything that might compromise the good name I've made for myself at work because I have little children financially dependent on me. Got it?"

Viktor laughed. A freezing, emotionless sound which chilled even more the already less than friendly atmosphere.

"Quite the hypocrite you are. Judging Chris and me, but scared yourself to reveal who you are, even to your own family. How noble is that?"

Von Düring closed his eyes and put a hand over them, exhaling loudly. When he looked at Viktor again, his eyes reflected shame.

"I'm not proud of what I've done. But, let's say, I tell my wife, my 8-year-olds, and the press about my bisexuality. Raise issues about discrimination in sport. How long will it be until they put two and two together and find out about the two of us after the 2006 GPF? Yakov found out where you were that night, why wouldn't they? This would be public scandal #1. Who knows how many other made-up ones will follow, and even if they don't, my face still will be in the newspapers. This isn't the way to provide a peaceful childhood for my babies."

"Then think harder before calling me chicken next time. My work here is done," Viktor took the chair he had sat on and put it back to its original place.

"Viktor, don't…"

"There's nothing left to talk about. We cleared up some old issues. My visit was worth something. Now, it's late, and you're flying tomorrow."

"I know, I know, but it's happened again. We argued, and I didn't help you one bit with anything. What's bothering you? Tell me…"

"I already did. Everything, Bernd. My skating, my coaching, Yuuri, my future, my finances, recently even my coach, which is a long story, too…"

"Finances?" Von Düring picked the one presumable issue he was convinced he could disprove. "Viktor, you earn millions every year! You could have saved yourself and the person you claim you love this whole Lidia escapade!"

"The person I claim to love?! I'm engaged to Yuuri!"

"So what? You still know nothing about love! Lesson one, Viktor, you don't humiliate your love on live TV! Least of all, for money!"

"Screw you, von Düring!"

"Screw you, Nikiforov!" the German returned the insult in the blink of an eye.

"Great, can I go now?"

"NO! Where the hell did all your money go? I know you're an airhead, and you love charitable causes, too, but we're talking millions of dollars here!"

"I earn millions, and I spend millions! That's all you need to know."

Von Düring took the distance between them in two in a single stride and grabbed Viktor by the shoulders.

"You are as exasperating and nerve-wracking as ever. You don't deserve any favors from me. So, tell me before you leave is there anything I can do for you?"

The intensity in von Düring's eyes, his remaining desire to help after their heated conversation awakened something inside the skater. Unconsciously, Viktor's hand stretched upwards to caress one of the cheeks of this still awful-tempered man he had once fallen in love with.

His hand was deftly caught half-way.

"Don't stir up long-buried feelings."

A slight blush covered Viktor's cheeks, but his eyes were determined.

"You can't wave with a magic wound and make millions of dollars appear in my bank account, and you won't publicly support gay rights. You're of no use to me, Bernd Axel von Düring."

"I thought I could do something more psychologically oriented, but you've become very materialistic these days," Bernd's thin lips curved mildly upwards.

"Hm, haven't I always been?" Viktor tilted his head sideways, his silver bang fully revealing his features. In the twilight of that late June white night, the skater's face looked as innocent as it had been on a late December night 11 years ago.

"Just come here!" the German said emotionally and wrapped his arms around Viktor, this once still boy, now man von Düring admired and felt a strong urge to protect. Was it because of lingering guilt, lingering love, or the odd friendship they had developed throughout the years despite their clashing tempers, the businessman didn't quite know, and, honestly, was slightly fearful to find out.

"Every situation has a way out, Vitya, and nobody can blame you for pursuing your happiness. Just act upon that which makes you happy, and don't apologize to anyone. You are proficient at both."

Viktor smiled and sank further into the embrace, letting von Düring carry the greater part of his weight. Bernd was easily 10 centimeters higher than the Russian, and more muscular, too, so Viktor was fully engulfed in his arms and felt small, secure, and carefree for the first time in a long while.

Then a strong hand started gently massaging his back, which made him relax fully.

"Axel, what are you doing to me?" he murmured.

"It's supposed to soothe frayed nerves," Bernd answered, hoping he was executing an adequate copy of his one-time coach's special anti-anxiety massage.

"It's going to make me fall asleep."

Viktor heard a loud nasal exhale and knew the other man was making his unique small ridiculously cute smile.

"I can drive you home, and make somebody drop off your car."

"Oh, I don't want to go back there, Axel," Viktor frowned and gripped the other man harder.

"Don't address me by my middle name. I can't even jump triple Axels anymore," von Düring confessed silently, his gaze darkening.

"You can't?" Viktor whispered with disbelief and sadness, reminiscing of Bernd Axel's signature, powerful triple Axels.

"I'm too old and fat for such dangerous tricks."

"Fat?! You're all muscle!" Viktor protested, pulling slightly back to make eye contact.

"Not quite. I was way too tall and heavy for figure skating a decade ago. Now it's even worse. So don't call me Axel," the businessman uttered more harshly than intended.

"Then don't call me Vitya."

"I won't," von Düring said with a slight frown and broke the embrace, taking a step back.

"I skated at the Ice Palace today," Viktor surprised Bernd with a lightning-fast change of topic.

"You did?" the German inquired his entire body growing tense.

"I suspect you're Yuri Plisetsky's favorite skater," Viktor threw a comment in another unsuspected direction to von Düring's relief.

"Of course I am. Rebellious, prone to violence, media & politics hater, metal fan…"

"Today the brat said you'd have owned my ass for the rest of your career, hadn't you retired in 2007."

Viktor watched with outer dispassion and disturbing inner excitement von Düring's face gain the rich red color of his hair.

"That… sounds too realistic, I'm afraid. You'd have owned me on the ice; I'd have owned you outside the spotlight."

"I would have been a good consolation prize, I guess."

"You would have been much more, but Viktor…" Bernd's voice was emotional, however, his expression was revealing he still stood by the decision he had made 11 years ago.

"You already said the words you're about to say," the skater interrupted. "Now you will hear me."

Viktor took a step towards the older man.

"And I say I would have had everything," he uttered looking in the dark brown depths that were Bernd von Düring's eyes and planted a soft kiss on his arch-rival's left cheek.

Viktor then turned on his heel and walked blindly forward. He heard his name being called in a shocked stern voice just before the automatic doors opened.

He didn't turn around.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

Exhausted, physically and emotionally, Yuuri Katsuki slowly made his way towards Viktor's apartment. Towards the man who would never love him.

For a year, he had gotten a single kiss from Viktor, the same Lidia had gotten in a single afternoon. He couldn't possibly compete, and he was too tired to anyway. He was too tired to be angry and jealous, to love or hate. If Viktor and Lidia were happy together, what could plain, unremarkable Yuuri Katsuki do about it?

He had to learn to care less, to let go, to focus on the skating and blend out all else. That was what he would attempt in the morning when the pain would inevitably drop by for another torture session. If he caught sight of Viktor before he fell asleep, he would give him his blessing to date whoever he wanted to. In case he was interested in Yuuri's opinion on his relationship with Lidia at all.

The elevator reached Viktor's floor, and Yuuri stepped out, pulling his key out of his pocket. But as he looked forward, he caught sight of a person, whom he hadn't planned on meeting. Whom he wished he would never see again.

"Ah... I was waiting for Viktor, he isn't picking up, and I wanted to talk to him..." Lidia explained in a single breath, as unhappy to meet Yuuri as he was to meet her.

Yuuri stood still, unable to form a response. The woman that had ruined his life was in front of him, in her third outfit for the day - a tasteful long light-green dress, and a dark leather jacket. She looked more flawless than ever, and he wondered why on Earth did Viktor have to come to Hasetsu, kiss him, give him false hopes when he could have had this prima ballerina all along. As for Yuuri himself - he would have been fine at the onsen, maybe a little bit depressed and overweight, but at least he would still have a functioning heart.

"I'm sorry, I'll just go," Lidia spoke up awkwardly, as no reply followed.

"No," Yuuri managed to say, halting her. She looked at him, her grey eyes revealing she wished she could be anywhere but there, with Yuuri. This remained unnoticed by the young man, who was too overwhelmed by the events of the day to be able to read people or do much else than slump in his bed and pray he would never wake up.

"Don't go, you can wait for him inside," Yuuri assured as politely as he could. This was Viktor's apartment with Viktor's girlfriend waiting in front of it, after all. She was welcomed to come in.

"Thank you, but I think I'd better go," the woman replied hesitantly, unnerved by Yuuri's politeness.

"Sorry, I can't tell you how long it'll be until he's back. But you're welcome to spend the night here anyway, so, come in," Yuuri's good manners insisted, while Yuuri himself was temporarily switched off, a precaution for the case some rebellious negative emotions inside him surfaced and vented themselves on Lidia.

The astounded ballerina shook her head nervously.

"No need, I'm flying early tomorrow, so I can't anyway. Are you... OK?" she risked asking, creeped out by Yuuri's behavior, and his sickly pasty face. She preferred the Japanese to have lashed out at her instead of displaying this eerie hospitality.

"Me? Yeah, yes, why?" Yuuri wondered, but his mind quickly made a connection. "You don't have to worry about me. Don't mind the yellow press, there's nothing going on between Viktor and me, there never has been. It's all a big misunderstanding. He's just my coach."

Lidia stared at the skater, who had spoken with the utmost conviction. Yuuri looked back at her in silence, his gaze as hollow as felt.

"Good to know. Have a nice evening," Lidia Alyona Davydova uttered quickly and disappeared into the elevator as fast as she could.

 _I don't think she likes me. Who does, anyway?_ Yuuri thought despondently as he entered Viktor's apartment.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

_One, two, three. Three, two, one. One, two, three._

It was nearing midnight, and Viktor was relentlessly switching between gears on a rarely used road outside of Saint Petersburg, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Listening only to the steady sound of the powerful engine, he masterfully evaded the quarreling voices in his head, which were trying to make him face reality.

_"What did you think when you agreed to be filmed with Lidia on Pasha's sleazy show?"_

_"Why, on God's green Earth, did you kiss Bernd ancient history  **married**  von Düring?"_

_"How are going to come back home to your Yuuri and be able to look him in the eye?"_

The voices sounded too real and too loud for Viktor's liking, but he refused to give himself up and be tried by his own conscience.

_Slowing down, down down, and hurrying up, up, up._

The monotonous cycle was his only refuge from the day's events, and from the various other subjects gathered in a large pile in his mind. A pile threatening to collapse.

_"You are going to be as good as broke unless you get your sponsors back..."_

_"You skate your free program repulsively!"_

_"You have made Yuuri miserable, and he's going to leave you, like everybody else you're letting down right now!"_

At the final accusation, Viktor hit the breaks and pulled over. An invisible rock had landed on his chest, constraining his breathing, and sheer panic of suffocating overwhelmed him. Fortunately for him, the ringing of his phone pierced through the mass of bludgeoning emotions belaboring Viktor's breathing, and he reached for it as a drowning man will clutch at a straw.

"Да?" he uttered breathlessly to whoever was on the line.

"Да, Вики, да! The mess you've made this time is quite the novelty!"

"Лиди?"

"The Katsuki boy had no idea about Peterhof, Pasha, and the whole act, did he?"

Lidia's voice was sharp and unforgiving. Viktor's heart clenched.

"I wanted to tell him... I would have immediately after the show. But then both of you turned up at the Ice Palace, you kissed me on TV, and everything went downhill! Everything!" The skater could barely prevent his emotions from coloring the way he spoke, and his panic, regret, self-loathing were slipping through the cracks of the neutral barrier he wanted to seek recluse behind. If Lidia had noticed any of this, her tone revealed no sign of it, remaining harsh and condescending.

"It's easier to ask for forgiveness than beg for permission, they say. Too bad it's not valid for your case."

Viktor, jarred by Lidia's words, willed his mind to work, desperately searching for a way to contradict her. Luckily, he soon found one. "Wait, just wait a minute, how can you even know about Yuuri?"

"Met him at your apartment while waiting for you to turn up. Poor boy thought I was your girlfriend or something."

Viktor's heart stopped. "But you explained the situation to him, right? He knows it's not for real?" he asked hysterically.

"Hell did I explain it all! I left you to reap what you sow, Vicky. Don't count on a rich harvest."

"What did he say? How did he look?" Would Lidia just stop beating around the bush, and explain what had happened? Couldn't she understand that each of her dooming metaphoric phrases was giving Viktor a heart attack?

"You know, after you sacrificed a competitive year and put your whole career at risk, I figured it had to be because of some grand love story. Turns out you did it all for naught. That's what Katsuki said. That there was nothing between the two of you."

"What?" Viktor whispered, suddenly gasping for air again. In her hotel room in the center of town, Lidia finally picked on the skater's tumultuous emotions, but her anger won over her compassion.

"Do you know that I really loved you all those years ago? I was head over heels for you, gorgeous." The confession of love sounded like a declaration of hatred. Viktor shuddered. "But you forgot to mention you weren't all that interested in women while you brought me flowers, kissed me in front of everybody, skated for me... Well... Forgetting to mention things seems to be pathological about you. Don't harbor illusions that it would bring about a more fortunate turn of events this time around. The Katsuki boy will look like an apparition from the underworld for a few days, and then he will simply move on. Be prepared."

"He looked bad?" Viktor choked out, now plagued by a mental image of his Yuuri, miserable, because of him. "But what exactly did he say, Lidia, please..?" he added, to his own horror. Had Yuuri truly said there hadn't been anything between them? Viktor didn't want to find out because he couldn't live with the thought that Yuuri had said such a thing... But he couldn't live without finding out either; the doubts would eat him alive.

"You really want to know? Fine..." Lidia sighed, her sympathy for Viktor getting the upper hand this time. She cleared her voice. "There's nothing going on between Viktor and me, there never has been. It's all a big misunderstanding. He's just my coach," the woman uttered firmly in a Yuuri imitation. "These were his words. He would have convinced me were he not paler than a ghost as he spoke. Instead, he made me feel repulsed by myself."

Lidia's voice faltered, and she took a breath before continuing. "I am sorry I suggested a fake reunion for publicity's sake. It's been so long since I was in love that I'd forgotten how much it can hurt. I'd also forgotten what a jerk you can be, dear Vicky. Add those two together, and you'll know how Yuuri feels about you now. I don't even know what to tell you. I'll shrug off inquiries about us from the media, and I hope you don't end up both boyfriendless and sponsorless. I really do, believe me, or not. The best you can do now is go home to him and pray for the best. Good luck."

There was silence, and Viktor guessed Lidia had hung up. His phone fell out of his grip and tumbled down into his lap. In an automated succession, Viktor started the engine, shifted from neutral to first gear, and pressed hard on the accelerator. 2nd, 3rd, 4th, he changed gears in a matter of seconds.

Liddy - if there had been any doubt, now he knew for certain he had broken her heart. Whatever he did for her could never cross out what he had done  _to_  her.

_I was head over heels for you, gorgeous._

The animosity lurking behind the love confession made Viktor sick, even more so than he already was. However, focusing on his long-past relationship with Lidia helped him ignore the much more heart-rendering truth about Yuuri, fresh and burning like acid.

 _There's nothing going on between Viktor and me, there never has been,_  he had said. Lidia had turned up out of the blue and Yuuri had just given Viktor up without a fight. The worst part was that he had denied the whole year they had spent together, that wonderful, and equally frightening, thrilling madness of a year Viktor was dreaming about every night. Every look, the slightest touch, the faintest smile - the Russian could argue all of them were sealed in his otherwise forgetful mind, and it was these memories that made him rise at 5 am every day, go through his own exhausting training and push himself to be at his best for Yuuri's training sessions.

Viktor was aware that this hadn't been enough, that he hadn't taken proper care of Yuuri, the image of him sprawled unconscious on the ice after skating to "Gori, gori, moya zvezda" wouldn't let Viktor have peace for a long while, but... Despite it all, he had hoped Yuuri still harbored some affection for him if not love. He had hoped there was something, anything reserved for him only in Yuuri's heart, but...

_There's nothing, and there never has been. Nothing, never._

Viktor was flying on the small secondary road, not bothering to slow down for the turns. High-speed driving was something he was good at. Maybe it would make him forget...

 _There's no planned wedding, no date, or anything else,_ sounded in Viktor's head instead. He should have known when Yuuri had said this in front of JJ and Isabella, he should have known Yuuri would never be his, that he was too precious to be given to someone like him.

Серый, скверный, злобный, SSZ. That's what he had been called by a bunch of kids years ago. And it was true.

_Today I personally shred to pieces any chance of getting Yuuri someday, somehow. With von Düring and Lidia, who wouldn't even want to talk to me anymore._

Gori, gori, moya zvezda. In Russian, the verb "gorit" means burn. If Viktor had had any chance of being Yuuri's star, now he had nothing, he had burnt out. Gori moya zvezda had turned into dogori, moya zvezda, burn had turned into burn out.

Viktor switched to fifth gear, accelerating again. His silver Mercedes surged forward on the straight section of the uneven road. The car grew unsteady, the rough cement underneath and small holes destabilizing it.

 _Maybe it's time for me to truly burn out,_  Viktor thought bitterly under the assault of past memories he usually kept bottled up deep inside, memories of death and despair and gutting loneliness. He knew with precise certainty that he wouldn't live through Yuuri abandoning him. The only way out was to leave first.

 _"There's nothing going on between Viktor and me, there never has been. It's all a big misunderstanding. He's just my coach,"_ Viktor saw a sick-looking Yuuri tell a shocked Lidia.

 _"He's just my coach,"_  Yuuri repeated, trying to prove his point.  _Just Yuuri's coach..._

_God, yes! I'm his coach, his Viktor, he needs me, he still does, he won't leave, not now, not for years to come, I will make him a champion, better than anyone else!_

That Viktor wanted more didn't matter, Yuuri still needed him, and he would be whatever Yuuri needed him to be. Yuuri had settled for coach. It was OK, as long as Viktor got to see him every day, touch his smooth pale skin on occasion, witness all of his smiles, from the heart-melting adoring shy ones to the heart-stopping seductive, bold ones...

_Baby, I'll be here for you, as long as you need me._

Viktor closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. Fifth gear became fourth, fourth became third, as for third... The skater opened his eyes and froze. While he had been trying to calm down, his car had crossed the road, and now it was leaving it, headed straight for a big oak tree. Viktor stared at it, his mind strangely blank. He had no clue how to avoid the crash, and the Mercedes was already moving on grass.

 _I can't leave Yuuri now,_  was Viktor's single thought, and his feet moved of their own accord. His injured left foot hit the break hard, spreading a sharp pain through the skater's body.

It was too late.

The silver Mercedes slowed down but still collided with the tree, its front getting reduced to an ugly pile of metal, the airbags deploying. Seconds or minutes went by, Viktor wasn't quite sure of the time, but was painfully aware that his head and neck ached, as well his chest, where his seatbelt passed. He was unable to move. Was it shock, was it injury, he couldn't know. All he knew was that he was numb, alone, frightened, and in pain by an empty road in the middle of the night, a haunting, white June night, in a ruined million-dollar Mercedes. In an instant, his body was rocked by shivers, and the invisible rock was pressed against his chest again.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

Von Düring slowly ran his fingers over the cool surface of a silver medal, the one that always ended up in his suitcase when he traveled on business trips. The one that usually lay in a cupboard in his office back in Germany, while all the rest gathered dust in an old unused closet at his home.

"2006 ISU Grand Prix Final, Saint Petersburg. Men's singles. Second place for Bernd Axel von Düring," stated the Wikipedia article, opened on his laptop.

The German grabbed his phone without further ado and dialed a number. However, the other side was in no hurry to answer their phone, and Bernd waited impatiently.  _Please, pick up. Please._

In a crashed car kilometers away, ringing managed to break through Viktor's second panic attack for the day. His breathing still belabored, he made an effort to move his hands. To his relief, they obeyed and managed to pull out the phone he had ended up sitting on.

 _Bernd von Düring_ the display read with a picture of an auburn-haired man, smiling smugly in an expensive well-tailored suit. For some reason, the photograph always made Viktor laugh, and it still managed to extract a choked nervous laughter-like sound from the skater's aching chest. Tears sprung from his eyes, as his trembling fingers pressed the green answer button.  _You still want to talk to me, Axel! But, for God's sake, please don't kill me with accusations._

"Viktor!" a deep worried voice exclaimed. However, the tone changed immediately to stern and slightly commanding. "About what happened today - I don't love you, Viktor, by any means. Karla, my wife, is the love of my life. I care about you as a friend, and I believe your feelings go no further, too. You were stressed out today, I wanted to clear out the 2006 Grand Prix Final once and for all, and we both got carried away. You are so coming with me to Frau Steinmeier so that we rid ourselves of fucked up residue emotions and finally move forward. Am I clear?"

"I'm so sorry, Bernd..." Viktor trailed off, his speech cut short by lack of breath. The raw emotion in the response and the uneven voice alerted to the German that something was off.

"Viktor! What's the matter? Don't tell me you've done something foolish again!" von Düring admonished, more unsettled than angry.  _I shouldn't have let him leave like that, I damn well know his tendencies to freak out under severe stress!_

"I think I have, Axel, something very, very stupid." Viktor's raspy inhale that followed was loud enough for Bernd to hear.

"Where are you? I'm coming right away!"

"Oh, I don't really know, I've driven for hours..."

 _He doesn't know? Driven for hours? And that faint raspy voice..._  A shiver ran down von Düring's spine.

"Vitya, you're wrong, you left about an hour ago, you can't be too far. Send me your coordinates."

 _Coordinates? I can actually do that?_ Viktor wondered, making valiant efforts to still his trembling hand and open a navigation app.

"Vitya?!" Bernd called after not getting any answer, cold dread seeping through him.

"Yes, I'm trying... But Bernd, I think I need a new Mercedes..." Viktor said dismally.

"Goodness, Vitya, just tell me you'll live until I get to you!" von Düring exclaimed, struggling to shake off images of Viktor's Mercedes crushed beyond recognition.

"I'm fine..." Viktor whimpered, all of his problems hitting him like a wave, the pain in his chest growing more pronounced. He nearly dropped his phone under the pressure.

"Don't worry, Vitenka, I'll get you a thousand Mercedeses if I have to, you simply relax and send me those coordinates," Bernd said while he himself was trying to stay clear-headed.

 _"_ My hands... Shake... It's hard," the skater mumbled.

"Try to even your breathing. Is your chest hurt?"

"My heart... aches... I'm a bad person, I'm so sorry," Viktor replied incoherently.

"Viktor," von Düring chimed in only to be interrupted himself.

"I'm bad, Axel, and everybody leaves me," the skater confessed, his voice cracking.

"Viktor, calm down!"

"I can't... breathe."

Bernd heard ragged breathing, then a brief thumping noise.

"Viktor! Viktor, are you still there? Talk to me!"

Bernd called Viktor's name a couple more times with mounting desperation. The Russian hadn't hung up, but he wasn't responding either. On the verge of a panic attack of his own, the businessman suddenly noticed he had received a message.

Viktor Nikiforov, 11:13 pm, 17.06.2017: 59.970240, 30.760540

Bernd Axel von Düring grabbed his 2006 Grand Prix silver and broke into a run for the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dictionary:  
> 1\. Georgi's SSZ translation is relatively accurate (I hope, I don't speak Russian fluently).  
> 2\. Julia, bringst du mir die Dokumente über = Julia, are you bringing me the documents about/concerning...  
> 3\. Lieber Herr = Dear Sir  
> 4\. Уважаемый господин Никифоров = Dear Mr. Nikiforov  
> 5\. Gospodin = Mister  
> 6\. Frau = Missis, usually used as Miss, too  
> 7\. Да = Da = Yes  
> 8\. Вики = Vicky  
> 9\. Лиди = Liddy
> 
> Notes I had to make (don't read them unless something about the chapter doesn't feel right to you --> there are SPOILERS included):  
> 1\. I'm not killing poor Viktor off. :D  
> 2\. Georgi's tale about life in post-Soviet Russia is an educated guess. --> \+ His family is quite poor. The shoe repair shop brings little money; Georgi's mother mostly earns the family's living (she's an educated woman, but note that teachers' salaries aren't high). Regarding the father - he earns better at said local factory, but the pay is low for the hard work there, so he does it only in emergencies. He isn't a hard-working fella.  
> 3\. Yess, Zhora was better than Vitya in the beginning. Don't underestimate Carabosse. And yess, Zhora's English is fine, he just has some anxiety issues (as fine as my non-native English can be).  
> 4\. Working 20 hours a week at 14 and skating isn't very compatible. It's no wonder Georgi's junior skating debut wasn't successful. Oh, and there was that girl... Georgi and his girls. :D For the record, working that much at 14 is illegal, but it's not like the authorities ever found out about our Zhora.  
> 5\. "In and Out of Love" by Armin van Buuren ft. Sharon den Adel is the song Yuuri came up with.  
> 6\. Yakov is the Godfather and Mila is the Black Widow, why not? :D  
> 7\. The Junior 2006 GPF wasn't in St. Petersburg. Only the Senior one was. Not in this fanfic.  
> 8\. Bernd is unusually tall for a figure skater. Feel free to doubt the credulity of a 1,90 m (6 foot 2,8") tall three-time consecutive figure skating champion. As a whole, it was harder for Bernd to execute jumps, he wasn't very flexible either. But he worked hard; was big and bad and scared away the competition :D (especially after Karla broke up with him). What's more, there wasn't that much pressure on male skaters to execute quads back then (the first quad flip was ratified in 2016; in YOI canon it can't be that late, but still the quad pressure was less during von Düring's time).  
> 9\. Yakov hates Bernd, hence the "German swine" insult. No offence to German people intended. <3  
> 10\. Frau Steinmeier doesn't have anything to do with the current German president Frank-Walter Steinmeier.  
> 11\. On Russian homophobia: I've never even been to Russia, so I can't know the exact extent. All the Russians I know are great, and I love Russia as a country. Sadly, the LGBT community faces a harsher reality there (than in some European countries, for instance). I even believe I've made Russia more liberal in the fic (it's intentional). Constructive criticism is appreciated, for I believe some of you are better-informed on the topic than I am.  
> 12\. Homophobia in figure skating is real. Maybe things are changing for the better, but it's still an issue (there are plenty of articles on the topic out there + Johnny Weir interviews, of course :D )  
> 13\. I'm not an expert on car crashes, so I hope I made Viktor's a believable one. It was a relatively mild crash: he wasn't driving fast and managed to slow down a bit.  
> 14\. Viktor's relationships with everybody are messed up. He is messed up. You're in the process of finding out why.  
> 15\. This chapter is way too long, but there were many things that needed to be told + I got carried away. I'm bad at editing, too :D I promise the next one will be more dense. Yurio will be the center of attention. We'll get to see his take on everything while he'll get to make some important decisions. 
> 
> This is the end of the long, long notes to this long, long chapter.


	10. Punk, Tiger, Fairy? The Boy Inside a Figure Skating Champion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the Yurio-centric chapter. It's written at a later point in the story, in a diary form of sorts, with included remarks aimed at Yurio's future psychologist, the very Frau Steinmeier from the previous chapter. Their paths will cross sometime in 2017. 
> 
> P.S. Under "rehab" Yurio means ordinary psychotherapy. I'm not turning the poor kid into a substance abuser. As for how he can recall things so vividly, there's more information in the notes at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Warning: there's a load of foul language ahead.

"They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said no, no, no."

So did I, but they overruled me (I’m fine; Winehouse needed overruling!). Anyway, that’s why I’m writing this bullshit – I’m supposed to relive the fucked-up moments of my life and let go of the bitterness piled in my soul.

Therapists' crap!!

Here I thought the Germans were level-headed, rational people, but all this old hag Steinmeier (yes, Steinmeier, you are an annoying old hag!) keeps raving about are frigging emotions. The upside – I get to write in English and practice my writing a bit. Or my written swearing in English.

So, it’s the morning of June 20th, as I am making my way to the rink from the end of the world, also called fuckin’ Rybatskoye. The subway train stinks thanks to some homeless rag sleeping with a bottle of vodka, and I am on cloud nine – I just caan't wait to meet depressive Viktor and weird-acting Katsudon.

Truth be told, I’m somewhat considering being proud of the Katsudon – he must have raised quite the scandal after Viktor’s disgusting TV appearance with Lidia because the one Viktor Nikiforov has turned into a droopy walking pile of jelly. Now their roles almost seem reversed – was it not for Katsudon’s freakish behavior.

The day before, he acted as though nothing had happened, he wasn’t glaring at Viktor (though I’m not quite sure he can glare at all), he was simply… Fake. Everything about him. He wore the mask of perfect politeness, but what the heck was going on behind it, only chubby Piggy knew.

Still, he was not frigging hugging me or crying on me, it could have been much worse. At least he could completely cover up his emotions, whereas Viktor was plain pathetic!

Speaking of the devil, after a several-day-long journey from fucking Rybatskoye, I arrive at the rink and what is there to see? The Viktor Nikiforov, hugging himself on a bench.

 _No piggy to hug anymore, eh?_ I think with contempt. Katsuki is supposed to be here, having a lesson with Viktor, but since there’s no sight of the pig, and Viktor looks like the shit he is…

“Did your Yuuuuri finally decide to get an adequate coach? Good for him.”

Viktor stirs slowly and fixes weary eyes on me. Has he forgotten that I train my short program with Katsudon and him on Tuesdays?! I wouldn’t put that beside him. And is Katsudon really getting a new coach?  Does that mean he’s leaving town? The thought unsettles me*.

“Yuuri skipped training today, Yurio. All he said was that he wouldn’t be able to make it...” An awkward pause follows. Katsudon doesn’t skip training just like that, maybe they argued again. Damn you, Viktor, you’re only dragging him down! I’m about to snap at him, but it’s just then that the bastard decides to continue blabbering.

“Your training with Yakov is off, too, for reasons I’m not authorized to tell. Don’t yell at him tomorrow, if you please, you can compensate with Yuuri and me right now. He agreed to come for a full-length joint training session with you.”

I’m freakin’ mad. Nuts Yakov is completely out of line, he didn’t even bother calling me! What the hell?! As for the Katsudon – yeah, I bet he’d prefer having me around during training with that excuse of a person, Nikiforov. I can be a govno when it suits me, but never with the people who love me (Dedushka, that is, and maybe my friend Otabek who doesn’t even make the one-man love-Yuri list). All in all, I’m very unlike the person in front of me who I wonder how I’d keep from punching in the face for a whole training session.

“Oh, I will have a talk with Yakov about professionalism, don’t worry about that,” I spit out. I aim at sounding deadlier than scorpion venom (I love scorpions, and, for the record, you “Scorpion”-loving old hag, your favorite band is a disgrace to the animal – they are too light, the fuckers; though I might have been able to stand them, had they chosen a better-fitting name for their boozy ballads band).

So, where was I? Yeah, I’m spitting out venom addressed at my lame-ass coach. Then I start spitting venom at lame-ass Viktor.

“As for you, gorgeous Vicky, you are a… A… The most disgusting thing you can imagine, that’s what you are!”

Viktor just stares at me tiredly without saying a word. Has he lost the will to live or what? This depressive passivity makes my desire to hit him sky-rocket.

I try to calm down, before ranting on.

“Do you realize how… Argh! My full arsenal of insults can’t encompass your dumb behavior! See, making out with loon Lidia on TV, that’s fine. Alright, you’re an evil trashy son of a bitch, this I can understand. But making out with loon Lidia on TV and then playing the mislead pitiful protagonist of a Greek tragedy – this is the only thing that’s worse than being straightforward evil!”   

Viktor’s gaze is so infuriatingly empty that I consider the option that I’m talking to a Viktor-bot instead, a perfect replica of Nikiforov full of metal and wires instead of flesh and blood. Damn the sci-fi comic books I read; they’ve brainwashed me, the Katsudon was right (I fill his head with sci-fi shit occasionally, and occasionally, I overdo it). While I try to figure Viktor out, he (or his robot copy) speaks up at last.

“You want me to defend myself, but I don’t. You want me to come up with a sufficient excuse, but I don’t have one,” Viktor says with a voice worthy of his mopey expression. To my surprise, his face afterward grows… angry? “What I want is no scandals in front of Yuuri. What you want most is a proper training session. That can’t happen unless you keep your mouth shut.” 

“But Katsudon isn’t here yet to save you, is he?” I hiss.

“You think I’m afraid of you, tiny Yurio?” I’d never admit it * (Steinmeier, feel privileged, I’m making an exception), but the fake laughter that follows gives me the creeps. I don’t show it, of course.

“I think that Viktor Nikiforov is dead,” I say, and I mean it. “He died the day you set foot in Hasetsu, and the best you can do is let him rest in peace. Your sorry attempts at resurrecting him have already cost you your dignity, and they will cost you your Japanese Katsudon, too, if they haven’t already. All you can do is turn back to being goofy Katsudon-loving Coach _Vitya_. This way there’ll be at least one proper rival for me to skate against.” Well, two: Piglet and Otabek.

Then the weight of my words hits me. I’m telling Viktor Nikiforov to retire. And yet, I’m not. I’m saying that to the empty-eyed mean Viktor-bot he’s been since about the beginning of the off-season. Unfortunately, I can’t even put the blame on evil aliens, scientists or politicians for this. It’s Viktor’s fault alone. Viktor, who’s suddenly the all-silent tragic drama character again.

“Fuck you!” I swear. Angry as I am, I chew over _Vitya's_  latest monkey business resentfully and a potential skeleton in the cupboard pops up. “I haven’t even seen you skate much recently. I thought you consider yourself too good for group training and that’s why you’ve been skipping most of it. But what if you just don’t skate like you used to anymore? You’re not the person you used to be, why would you skate like him? Afraid of what we’d think about your current skating, are you? ‘Cause on Saturday, you skated like govno, and everybody saw it.”

Viktor looks away.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” I snap and get no reaction. Something in me hurts, and I don’t know what it is. Viktor is one hell of a mess, and I can’t stand it.

“You know, I actually liked you better when you were a goofy idiot. You should have married the Katsudon when you had the chance. Now you’re beyond pity.”  Or maybe not. Maybe, for some reason, I pity that jelly pile on the bench. I turn my back on IT; I really can’t stand watching IT, that un-Viktor. And I don’t want him to see any sympathy in my eyes.

“Yuri,” I hear then and turn around because the voice is different. When I’m facing IT again, I’m facing… Viktor, is that you?!

Haha, but right at that instant, of course, Katsudon (perfect timing, Piggy, bravo!) enters and our no argument policy kicks in. Viktor shuts up; his gaze grows wary. Afterward, it becomes… He’s openly gaping at…

I turn and see the Katsudon, without glasses, hair slicked-back and wearing clothes that aren’t two sizes bigger for once. But the clothes strike some vague familiarity. My lightning-fast brain reminds me in an instant – Viktor’s old training clothes from when he was a junior; I’ve seen them in interviews. Damn, they look good on Katsudon, who recently turned all skinny.  

Viktor keeps doing the only thing he’s good at that day – staring. Katsudon seems to pay him no mind.

“Hi, Yuri, sorry about your training with Yakov, I’m sure there must be a good reason for it,” the stupid all-dressed-up pig says. Are you shitting me, Katsudon?! I’m pissed at nuts Yakov, why would you even mention him to me right now?

Lucky for the pig, Viktor exits his gawking-at-his-good-looking-probably-ex-fiance trance and beckons us to put our skates on and follow him.

I subdue my fury and do as requested with gritted teeth. Once we’re all on the ice, Viktor orders me to perform my short program. Me first? I’m mad at Viktor, Yakov, and weird-acting well-dressed Katsudon, and I know I’ll do terribly.

The music starts, and I go through the jumps, spins, step sequences without even trying to calm myself. To top it all off, my so-called father comes to mind, as well, and I totally lose it. Suddenly, I’m angry at the whole world. I jump the final combination, convinced I’m looking like a vicious wild cat, no sign of Oizys to be seen.

As the music finally stops, I can’t care less how bad Viktor’s criticism will be. Why would I listen to what piles of jelly have to say?

But Viktor isn’t quite the pile of jelly again. Instead, his face looks compassionate. I don’t like it any better than his jelly-face.

“Yuri,” he begins, and I’m at least glad he’s called me by my real name again, “You have to move on; this anger you keep nurturing is no good for you or anyone around you.” What the hell does he think he’s talking about? His words make me feel uneasy. A desire to scrape this pitying look off his face overtakes me. He’s the pitiful one, not I.

“Everyone has a tragedy of their own. But if you look at the bigger picture, all these little tragedies are nothing more than dust in the wind.” Suddenly, my hair stands on end. What is he implying? He can’t know…

“If you want a reminder of what actual tragedy looks like, pay a visit to the Piskaryovskoye Memorial Cemetery today. The people buried there were stripped of everything you have – a chance to remedy the past by building a brighter future. So, forgive and let go while the important people in your life are still there. Because ones they’re gone, you’ll be left with bitterness, regret, and lost opportunities. Do you really want to live like that?”

My eyes are intently fixed on Viktor, and everything they see there screams the same thing –  that he knows everything. Promises are meaningless to that cursed traitorous old man Yakov, it seems. He just had to tell it all to his _Vitya_ ; I can see them discussing my life on a cup of tea as if it’s some cheap soap opera! Forgive and forget, little kitty, behave yourself, and you’ll get a cookie! He’s got no idea what’s he’s talking about, this jelly-brain, and neither has he any right to tell me what to do with my life!!

“I don’t want to see your ugly mug ever again. And Yakov better go kill himself ‘cause otherwise, I’ll do it myself!” I shout. Viktor’s face is a blur of grey, as I turn and skate for the exit. I vaguely hear Katsudon calling after me.

“If you want to live, stay away from me!” I warn while I’m running away from both of them.

I reach a bench and hastily get rid of my skates. I believe I hear Katsudon scolding Viktor for “doing something to me again”, and Viktor trying to make some pathetic excuse. None of them try following me; that’s all I’m concerned about. So, I just abandon my skates lying there on the ground and dash off.

I am in the corridor already, and that’s good, but then I collide into something red-headed that materializes out of a corner.

“Damn you, Baba!” I curse vehemently.

“Fast and furious again, eh, Yurio?!” she complains, rubbing her chin. Then, falling victim to a case of severe paranoia, I grab her and shout, “Tell me you’ve no idea about my family, my dedushka excluded!”

“What? Of course not, I’ve asked you a zillion times about your mystery family, remember?! I don’t even know where in Saint Petersburg it is that you live, little brat!”

Her angry response suggests sincerity, and I let go of her, embarrassed. Right thereafter her anger gives way to something resembling concern that makes want to bolt again.

“What’s your issue with me, it’s none of your business why I’m freaking out, it’s not like anyone here gives a damn about me!” I rave before she gets to say a word, telltale Yakov and stupid Viktor on my mind.

“Yurio! What are you saying? We all care about you, me, Yakov, Zhora…” I snort.

“Georgi can’t stand the sight of me!” With Viktor gone last season, I got all the media attention while he went entirely off the journalists’ radar again. That’s why he probably hates me and got snippy at me at the Ice Palace.

“Hey, hey, Georgi loves everybody around here!” I hear to my surprise and then see, somewhat fuzzily, Georgi appear from the sideway Mila came from.

As soon as he spots me, he frowns.

“Yura! What’s the matter?”

There are Mila and Georgi standing in front me with their impossible worried, fucking _pitying_ faces, blocking my escape route. Then I hear “Yuri! Wait, I’m coming with you wherever you’re going!” in English from behind, and it’s the final straw that pushes me to make a masterful maneuver to evade the two idiots in front of me and run forward like hell.

I know Katsudon is hot on my heels, but I get lucky – a cab is just passing on the street. I wave with both hands at it like a complete lunatic. It stops, I hop in, and the driver takes me away from the cursed rink.

So long to all those stupid people! I try focusing on the relieving fact that I’m finally on my own with my sort-of nervous-angry breakdown, and I try to clear my head.

I rub my face. My hand meets hot, moist flesh.

No, fuck, my blurred vision, and everybody’s concerned expressions!

It looks like I’ve been in tears the entire time, without even realizing it…   

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

I’m walking on the large concrete plates covering the ground with their barren dead greyness. Blood-red flowers blossoming on the narrow concrete-free spaces are the only thing brightening the landscape, but their color is more ominous than welcoming. An enormous Soviet-style granite monument looms before me, the finishing touch to this solemn atmosphere.

Duh, I’m tired of trying to make this sound epic, when it’s just Yuri Plisetsky strolling around the Piskaryovskoye Memorial Cemetery, in an effort to make sense of his crazed reactions to Viktor prying in his miserable private life.

The truth is that it shouldn’t have affected me half as much. The fact that it did makes me want to jump off a bridge, seriously, I’m enraged at myself for letting this man still have so much control over me. Andrey Yanovich. The name makes bile rise in my throat.

Maybe if I didn’t live in said man’s house, I’d have pushed him entirely out of my mind long ago, but no, every time I see him… It’s the same old story on repeat. We barely make it through two minutes, before we’re at each other’s throats. He hates me. I despise him. And we’re all cooped up in the same house, with his non-wife (the vagabond still hasn’t married her – ha, maybe good for her, she can grab her bags and abandon ship whenever she wants). Besides Natalya Petrovna Elefterova, for a little over a year, there’s been a new resident – the poor baby girl they brought into the world as if they were a functional family that can take proper care of little beasties…

God, why has Lilia still not invited Yakov and me to spend the new season at her place again? Last year was the freaking best year of my life since I moved to Saint Misersburg!

I worked my ass off: I became a cursed prima ballerina, then I turned into a skating ballerina, then I became the Ice Tiger King!! In between we went to the ballet, to the opera, to the theater, to some galleries, watched old movies, watched new movies (I thoroughly shocked Lilia with the poor quality of modern-day cinema :D ), I even dragged them to a freaking rock concert, imagine that?!

But I bet the most insane thing I did was to cook pirozhki for them (I made Dedushka reveal his special recipe)!!! Insane, because normally me + cooking = house on fire, but the pirozhki turned out fine (I’m sure it’s all due to Dedushka’s recipe ❤ ).

What about now? Now, I haven’t spoken to Lilia for more than a month, and Yakov has turned into nuts Yakov, acts freakishly and systematically calls off training sessions! I’ve been a cancellation victim twice, but with Mila and Georgi it’s much worse…

The worst part is that he wouldn’t even say why! I bet Viktor, and maybe even Georgi know, but that’s it, Baba and I have no clue. And guess who I’m usually able to torture info out of? Baba only.    

So, that’s it, it’s the end of June, Lilia and Yakov ignore me, and I skate my short program like a flying angry little blonde govno. All curtsey to the horrible evil mongrel Andrey Yanovich!!

I’m walking between the gravestones of various soldiers, their young faces looking back at me earnestly. It’s much greener here, trees that had fed from these men’s decaying bodies continue to grow tall, but their greenness doesn’t lighten up the atmosphere. It’s a place of loss, and nothing will or should change this.

The soldiers’ gravestones are a colossal number by themselves, but then there’re the 420 000 civilians buried together in 18 mass graves. All of them victims of the 900-day Siege of Leningrad.

War memorials and cemeteries just suck. Wars suck. Who the hell thought WWI and II were a good idea?

I continue walking between the gravestones, assuming that maybe at least those men had families who loved them before they died, unlike me. Seriously, what’s the point of having a broken family that never wanted you to begin with? Better not have a family at all. Or better have a dead family that loved you.

However, I imagine not having Dedushka anymore and take my last words back immediately.

That’s right, I have my dedushka. The rest of my broken family – the older I get, the less will they matter, and the less influence will Andrey Yanovich have on me.

But I can’t wait to grow up (both literally, and figuratively). I have to stop caring, erase the anger NOW. Being angry at my so-called _father_ means giving a shit about him, about what he thinks and how he treats me. How much he gets to me is just deplorable! I have to shut him out. I’ve had enough of being angry and of getting disappointed right after each and every time Yanovich succeeds to trick me into thinking better of him. Playing nice from time to time so that his non-wife can’t realize what a jerk he is. What I’ve finally realized thanks to Oizys is that I’ve been Andrey Yanovich’s puppet for years, and that I’m the most pathetic person I know.

Katsudon and Viktor can’t even compare.

A desire to demolish something threatens to overtake me, and my self-hatred escalates. I can’t even keep my cool now that I’m alone in a fucking graveyard. 

No, gorgeous Vicky, there’ll be no happy reunions or teary apologies here, there’ll only be one cold finale. Severing of all ties quickly and cleanly. An abrupt end to a miserable, shameful year-long story.

From now on, I’ll be the silent, invisible tenant in the ground-floor room by the Neva River in Yanovich’s house. For real, this time. That un-family I live with won’t be able to touch me.

My new uncaring persona is making his way back to the memorial square, as the apathy it’s holding on to starts turning him into a hollow shell, something unnervingly like the Viktor-bot from earlier.

Apathy and callousness equal loneliness. If I finally turn my back on my un-family, I won’t be able to lie to myself that I have somebody else other than Dedushka. That’s why I feel so empty.

I hurry towards the eternal fire burning at the other end of the square. It may be the end of June, but I feel unnaturally cold. Once I’m there, I bend over it, as close as possible, I need its heat…

“Chto za chyort?! Ni huya!! I’m the biggest idiot govno on Earth!” I shout, for some reason in a Russian-English mixture.

“What the hell? What the fuck? I’m the biggest idiotic shit on Earth!” is the translated variant of what I scream as I note that my favorite tiger-print sweatshirt has caught fire, remove it hastily from my waist it's hanging from and start swinging it at it the ground. As the collisions with the ground turn futile, I resort to stomping on it or more accurately jumping on it like a fool.   

When my valiant efforts to save the piece of clothing finally bring forward a result, it is already beyond repair. I look at the remains of my Ice Tiger sweatshirt and wonder whether to laugh or to cry at how fucked this day has turned out for me, and how fucked my miserable life is.

Then I remember I’m in a frigging cemetery, and this is where I’ve just been jumping and swearing. I look around to find out if anybody has seen just what an idiot govno I am, and there’s this elderly lady, looking at me with a condescending smile.

Damn, I’ve become an Aunt Sally for old people! This is it; now I’ve officially reached yobannoe dno (fucking bottom), no – rock bottom, no I’m combining the two – I’ve reached fucking rock bottom!!

My head turns into a big ripe tomato, and I try getting away as fast as possible, but then – the lady calls my name!!

“You are Yuri Plisetsky, right?”

I halt. It seems I won’t get away without hearing what the lady has to say about swearing in front of the eternal flame burning for hundreds of thousands of war victims.

“The very same,” I answer, my voice small.

The woman simply... bursts into laughter!! I stare at her, and she continues, and I finally get that she might have been more affected by my ridiculous jumping around with the sweatshirt than by my swear words. Or maybe both made her laugh. I wonder whether being laughed at is better or worse than being an Aunt Sally. I decide that it’s probably worse. 

“I’m so sorry, Yurochka, but you were such a sight for sore eyes with the burning tiger jacket, cursing and hopping next to the eternal flame. Such things should happen more often here; usually, all I see are the mournful faces of old bags like myself.”

I blink several times. I made this nice old lady laugh; as embarrassing as the situation is, I involuntarily made her day. Being an idiot govno can have positive consequences?

“Oh, I’m glad I cheered you up,” I manage to say.

“What is a good energetic boy like you doing here anyway? This is not a place for young people.”

“I just… I had nowhere else to go, and I needed to think things over,” I explain, scowling. By the way, did she really call me a _good_ boy?

“But you’re so young, you shouldn’t have such dark thoughts on your mind,” the kind lady replies with disapproval. “Take a look at me – I’m at a cemetery with the most unsuitable clothes I have in my closet.”

It is just then that my brain makes the connection that the old lady is wearing a pink dress and yellow shoes at a graveyard. I’m simply not at the top of my game right now. I blink at her again, but her clothes don’t change color.

She just smiles cheerfully at me while I beat my brains out how to react.

“But… Why? Why are you here?”

“I’m visiting my mother and brother. The famine during the Siege took them; I only survived because a young German lieutenant, Klaus, found me barely conscious and took care of me for over a year. After the war was over, I took care of Klaus. I hid him and brought him part of the little food I got from the shelter for homeless people I was taken in. Luckily, my father arrived soon afterward, alive and well from the front, found me and helped smuggle Klaus to West Germany before they built the Berlin Wall.”

I gaze speechless at the lively lady in pink. Well, that’s what Viktor meant about the difference between stupid-ass tragedies like mine and actual tragedy and hardship. The effect of hearing such a story from a living, breathing person is unparalleled; it can’t be compared to reading your history book.  

“I feel very very stupid right now,” I blurt out.

The woman laughs again, her cheery voice a refreshing contrast to the landscape.

“Ah, I’m sure you have a good reason to be here, too. But remember this from me – there’s nothing that can happen to you that is worth closing yourself off from the world and wasting away with grief. My father and I could have wasted away, but we chose to live on. So, here I am today, paying a visit to my family the way they would want to see me. I hope they are somewhere out there, laughing their heads off at my odd dress and those funny shoes!”

“I wish everybody was you like you!” I say. I don’t know how someone like me made her day, but this endearing lady just made mine.

“Old and ugly? I say better not, Yura!” the lady smiles.

“Bullshit! You look better than any girl in my class; they all wear tons of make-up, high heels, and dark things that make them look about thirty.”

“Hahaha, today’s youth! No surprise, though, at 16 you want to look 20-something, but when the thirties start knocking on your door, you wish you’d look 19.”

“You look more 16 than any of the 16-year-olds I know. Even me ‘cause I look 12,” I pout, probably just like a 12-year-old.

“Don’t hurry to grow up, Yurochka, but also don’t resent growing up once you do. Every age has its charms. Carpe diem, right? The term has gotten trendy lately; join the trend!”

God, she calls me Yurochka again, and I want to cry that she’s not my grandmother; she’s the coolest old lady on Earth! As a matter of fact, I’ve never even met my grandmother Yana; she died when Andrey Yanovich was very young. Dedushka even insisted on naming his son after her, that’s how much he loved her. If I have to be honest, I’m glad he’s not Andrey Nikolayevich, he doesn’t deserve to be. Though he probably doesn’t deserve being Yanovich either; from what I know Granny Yana was wonderful; she was even a professional skater, but had to retire in her junior years due to a severe injury that eventually claimed her life years later…

A pointy finger is pressed against my stomach, and I’m instantly startled from my thoughts about Granny Yana. Did the lady in pink just poke me?!!

“You got pensive again!”

“Not for long, though; you’re like an antidote to sadness!” I grin at her. “But you didn’t mention how’d you know me?”

“What a question is that? I’m your biggest fan! I watched you even when you were half this size, and your hair was short and boring! I like how it flies all over the place now.”

I know I’m blushing profusely, but I continue grinning nonetheless. She’s my fan! Plus, she likes my hair, damn, I’m in love with this lady.

“Instead of asking for an autograph though, I’ll beg for an invitation to your rink. I’d love to watch you exercise if you don’t mind.”

My rink? The rink I skate on is known around the world as Viktor Nikiforov’s home rink. My rink?! Of course she can come to my rink anytime!

I scribble my training schedule on a piece of paper and hand it to her.

“You can come any time you pick; we’d love to have you!” There’s not a person in the world that wouldn’t like her immediately; I’m convinced of that, Yakov, Katsudon, Viktor, Mila, Georgi, there’s just no chance they wouldn’t

“You are such a sweet boy; the people who call you the Russian Punk know nothing!”

For once, I’m not mad at somebody that calls me a sweet boy.

“It was lovely meeting you, Russian… How was it? Ice Tiger King?”

I laugh at my favorite over-the-top moniker.

“Yeah, that’s fine, anything but the Russian Fairy.”

“Haha, but you are a fairy to a great many people. You make magic on the ice.”

I... I’ve never made such an association. I thought they called me that for my girly looks.

“Will you stop making me look redder than those bloody flowers over there?” I joke, painfully aware that I’m blushing for a numerous time.

“Alright, I will take mercy on you. Goodbye for now, Yuri Plisetsky, and don’t forget what we talked about today.”

“I won’t, not ever.”

I leave the cemetery, smiling. I didn’t even get the lady’s name, but I decide to call her Violeta; let’s see what she’ll make of it when she comes to visit!

 

 ...xXxXxXx…

 

It’s the morning of June 21st, and I’m sitting in a Tesla Model S, color darker than the night (Steinmeier, you might make a poet out of me).

Thoughts darker than the night fill my head, too, because the man behind the steering wheel is Andrey Yanovich (yes; obviously so long for playing cool and being cheerful; I’m a jerk; sorry, nameless Pink Lady).

“What’s the freaking issue with you today?” he nearly yells. “I drive you to the rink every Wednesday, for Natalya’s sake. This won’t change; your teenage antics will only blow up in your face, Plisetsky.”

“Says some man by the name of Yanovich. Why would I listen to him?”

“You live in my house, boy, and you will follow my rules.”

“You mean follow your current woman’s rules? Behold the high and mighty Andrey Yanovich, bossed around by some frail female!” (--> Originally, I said “tyolka”, which doesn’t have an English equivalent, but it’s kind of derogatory; nowhere near suka = bitch, for example, but still…).

“What did you just say? If I ever hear you utter a bad word about Natalya Petrovna again, I will…”

“Shut up; I don’t have an issue with her,” I interrupt, embarrassed by my own foul mouth. Natalya’s damn annoying, but not evil and insult-deserving. “Plus, I’d have said “being ordered around by his wife”, had you had the decency to marry her.”

“My personal life is none of your business.” Even before Yanovich snaps at me, I’m certain my words have scored some damage.

“You’re absolutely right. That’s why I don’t care what your woman makes you do. This is the last time I’m letting you drive me.”

“Letting you drive me?” he repeats incredulously. “I drive you, little ogre. With my Tesla. Every Wednesday. Without complaining. My apologies, though, it seems like I haven’t been up to the standards of her bratty monstrosity the Russian figure skating Fairy. Maybe next week I should get a pack of wild pumas, a black carriage with tiger-print stripes, and hire Slash to blow our minds on the way with some insane guitar solo through a Marshall stack bigger than you.”

“If you actually do that, I might reconsider.” Rock and wildcat-addicted me is genuinely enthralled by the suggestion. This is the way to go if you want to buy Yuri Plisetsky.

“Little monster-brat.” Yanovich’s lips curve upwards, and I immediately start glaring at him. Is that idiot mocking me?! “I’ve no idea how your grandfather stands you,” he continues with the vague traces of a smile.

“Well, I have a good idea why he can’t stand you,” I throw at him, just in case. The sentence strikes home much better than anticipated; Andrey Yanovich’s face contorts into something resembling anyone suffering from a bad case of diarrhea.

“Shut your mouth,” he spits through gritted teeth.

“I’d gladly do that, once you confirm that Natalya Petrovna’s rule of your driving me on Wednesdays is officially rescinded.”

“That will happen only if you agree to accompany Natalya and me on any formal evenings we get invited to as a family. Under the condition you behave yourself, of course.”

“Haha. Wanna play happy family in front of your possible investors? No deal. I don’t want Yuri Plisetsky to be publicly associated with Andrey Yanovich, either.”

Yanovich’s frown wrinkles (the only wrinkles he has) deepen in a dissatisfied scowl. He’s gonna be stuck with those for life, and I’ve undoubtedly contributed to that. I’m not certain how I feel about this fact. I wish I couldn’t care at all as I promised myself not to the day before.

“This non-association you’re speaking of won’t last much longer. It’s not like I’ve changed my last name; my surname is still the hateful Plisetsky. I just skip it when introducing myself. In case you actually evolve into a man and continue winning medals, don’t think the media won’t link the businessman _Andrey_ Yanovich _Plisetsky_ to his young figure skating look-alike Yuri _Andreyevich Plisetsky_.”

The fucker is right. I look exactly like him; with the one difference he stopped suspiciously resembling a little girl at about 16, and I’m 16 and still a pretty little girl. Our resemblance though is uncanny, teenage photos of him prove it. And damn how I hate carrying his name…

“You have a week to make up your mind. My driving you or formal dinners, this is the best deal you’ll get.”

“Can’t your non-wife understand that we’re not a fucking happy little family?” I whine exasperated. How do I stop giving a fuck about Yanovich, Petrovna, and their baby under these conditions?

“She understands perfectly. She just won’t give up hope of changing things for the better.” Yanovich’s ugly mug gets… Argh, I will have that face of his soon, and I don’t want to still hate my own reflection once it’s finally manly. Let’s try again. Yanovich’s smooth attractive oblong face darkens with an unknown emotion. He touches his razor-sharp chin absent-mindedly… Argggh, I bet this sounds like 50 Shades!! No, it’s not disgustingly sexual, so probably “Pride and Prejudice.” Don’t worry, Steinmeier I’ve read neither and I never will.

So, our blonde Mr. Darcy – fine, I confess, I watched the “Pride and Prejudice” BBC mini-series with Lilia, she made me! Enough about Darcy, we’re cutting to me. Sunken-in-thought me.   

“Optimism is a good drug. But overdose on it and you turn into a naïve fool,” I remark, memories of the times I hoped things would work out between Darcy and me on my mind. And I know this sounds as if I’m fucking Elizabeth, not Darcy’s non-existent in the book or series son from another woman.

“God damn it, how can you offend Natalya, AGAIN, brat? What has she ever done to you?” (if you’ve lost track: Natalya is hopeful about Darcy and me = she’s an optimism abuser = a fool according to my words)

“Not everything is about you and your woman; I just made an observation! A true one,” I defend myself.

“You’re impossible to talk to.” That’s the most absurd thing he could have said, I swear.

“Haha, right! I might have taken this to heart, was it not said by someone way worse at communication than me.”

“I’m worse my ass!”

“I don’t know what your ass has got to do with communication, and I don’t want ever to find out,” I respond as though I don’t get his retarded way of swearing.

“I will not deem this with an answer.”

“You just did.”

“Is your life’s mission to make me die out of frustration?”

 _Is your life’s mission to make my life miserable?_ I counter mentally but say nothing out loud. Yanovich falls silent, too, and I’m almost content just sitting next to him in the car and watching him drive. And frown from time to time at poorly driving idiots (yes, that man does frown too much). As we wait at the next red light, he tarnishes the armistice, why not? He wants me to be miserable, after all.

“Seriously, Yuri, I need you at those dinners. I don’t want you to pretend to be something you’re not. Just be polite, which you can be towards people who aren’t me. I’ll introduce you to the people I work with. You even meet Dima so rarely!”

“Why would you need a monster-brat at these formal dinners, Yanovich? Like I said, you just want to show you are a responsible family man and you have to do it before some journalist figures out we’re related. People will start wondering why the hell you haven’t ever mentioned you’re Yuri Plisetsky’s father, won’t they? Family drama’s no good for business.”

“That no one knows is all your fault! You refuse to go anywhere with my colleagues and me!”

“You are ashamed of your own family name! You can’t stand your own father who’s the only person in the world I love! Andrey _Yanovich_ has nothing to do with Yuri _Plisetsky_ and never will.” The final sentence is the only one I manage to say with some semblance of self-control.

“Don’t involve your grandfather into this because it will get ugly,“ Yanovich gives an empty warning. We’re leading a conversation we’ve already led. I don’t need him to tell me the consequences I’ve already experienced.   

“Isn’t it ugly already?”

“Things can always grow worse. Much worse.” This is Andrey Yanovich, ever the optimist. He’s right, though, so, why not indulge his pessimistic realism?

“As you mentioned Dmitry, how’s he doing? Has he finally set his eyes on a more able businessman? He’s the man with the ideas, after all, you’re only marketing his products. _Technically_ , you are working for him.”

“ _Legally_ , we’re business _partners_. You assume such petty insinuations will rattle me?”

 _Ha, your frown is telling otherwise!_ My inner hatred for the man is damn greedy for a more emotional reaction.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to that man for him to watch submissively your taking his place in the spotlight! Yanovich, the transformer of the Russian energy market! Yanovich, the renewable energy god! The journalists are going to build you a pedestal soon.”

“The more publicity, the better the sales. Dmitry is a brilliant scientist and a terrible salesman. He opted to... Damn, why am I justifying myself to you?!”

“It’s your guilty conscience speaking. Seems like even you have a conscience, who would have guessed.” By this point, I’m thoroughly appalled by myself. This insane endless chain of anger and hurt has to be broken, I have to stop, but I can’t. I can’t curb my seething anger; I can’t help Yanovich’s  I can’t keep my mouth shut.

“Not that I’m not enjoying hearing your opinion of me, but why don’t we switch topics to you, _Yurochka_?” Yanovich sneers. “Your dedushka turns a blind eye on your arrogant behavior on camera, your disrespect towards your fans, your disastrous language, but for how long? Angsty teenage boys like you shouldn’t be allowed into the ranks of the seniors; no wonder all the sponsors would rather spend their money on third-rate skaters like Nekola and Crispino than on you.”

“I’m at least not doing it all for the money like you!!” I shout while D _edushka loves me, Dedushka loves me, Dedushka loves me_ is on repeat in my head.

“You damn well know that I AM NOT...”

“Yeah, yeah, save me that well-rehearsed speech about saving the world from global warming, impending doom, whatever.” Those work only on the journalists, Super-Andrey.

“As you wish, we’re going back to discussing you. So, at 30, you’ll be a poor man with figure skating records that might be already broken. Look at Nikiforov – his biggest records are ash and dust, but at least he’s well-off while you’ll be penniless out on the street, with a finished career and no education. With his media presence though Nikiforov has plenty job perspectives; but what will the Russian Punk have? Millions of haters, celebrating his retirement. Like your favorite von Düring. He only managed to turn his life around with the help of his well-respected family name, and family’s wealth, too, I bet. So, your very father will be saving your sorry ass in due time, little beastie. Better be glad business is good these days.”

I listen to him rant on and on, and his words get to me as they always do. _I will go to university right after I graduate, it all will be fine_ , I try convincing myself, but it falls on deaf ears. I try focusing on the view out of the window as a final resort, and I get thoroughly horrified. 

“Stop, the hell, stop, what are you doing?! We’re almost at the rink itself!” Every time I make him drop me off a couple of streets away from it, where nobody will see me getting off his stupid darn expensive Tesla.

Yanovich scowls again.

“I got carried away. Well, I’ll drop you off in front of the rink this time; I doubt this will trigger any sort of apocalypse.”

I want to scream at him again, but I have a hard time picking my words. Stupid dumb man, I don’t want anyone to know you’re my father! What am I even saying, you’re not my father! Getting somebody knocked up by mistake doesn’t make you a father!!

Suddenly, the car stops.

“Well, here we are,” Yanovich says. “Damn, how I wanted this drive to go, and how terribly it went again…” _Ah, no you don’t want to suddenly play nice, cursed fool!_ I warn, but Andrey Yanovich most certainly can’t read minds because he continues with his sort-of apologetic voice, “Maybe the dinners really are the better option. Please, give them consideration. What’s more, Dima is quite fond of you; he watches your every competition. You have a friend among my friends already.”

What a joke; Dima watches me skate, while Andrey Yanovich himself hasn’t even once. Not that I want to, of course. It’s time to put Yanovich in his place again.

“If you mention these dinners one more time, you’ll get me convinced your business is going down, and your last chance of saving it is by getting Yuri Plisetsky to play charming for the investors! Are all of them skating fans, or what?! Or have they caught the current skating fever as Baba calls it?”

“What?! Can’t you understand that I’m just…”

“Broke? I knew it,” I grin boldly. “That’s why the Tesla is still on credit.” I’m bluffing and having one hell of a fun, while he’s taking me seriously, the fool. “I hope you fail to cover the installments; then you won’t have anything to drive me with. Have an awful day,” I get out, not waiting for a response.

And then I see him. Fucking Katsudon, staring at me coming out of Yanovich’s Tesla. Before I get to do anything, fucking Yanovich is out, too, curse him.

“You will start treating me with respect, boy!” he growls.

“Shut up; it’s not like our disrespect isn’t mutual. Hey, there, Katsudon, how you doing? See this blonde fool?” I point at Yanovich’s mug on the other side of the car. “He thinks I should respect him. Does he look to you like somebody worthy of respect?”

“What the hell?” Yanovich curses and comes over to me.

“Uhm…” Piglet mutters in the meantime, his eyes racing to and fro Yanovich and me. His expression is priceless as he connects the dots.

Yeah, that’s my un-father, Piggy. Yeah, I’m gonna be just as tall and imposing as he is in no time. Not liking the idea of having to deal with a Yuri Plisetsky, towering over you? Haha, I can’t blame you.

“Will he ever spill out the verdict?” Yanovich’s patience runs short, but he seems amused by Piggy’s staring, too.

“Oi, Katsudon, I know you’re too polite to insult Andrey Yanovich here, so I’m gonna do it for ya,” I surprise myself by going over to Piglet and draping a hand over his shoulders. I throw a calculating look at my un-father. “You look like a Russian mafia boss, Yanovich; I look like a fairy, so I’m worthier of respect than you.” Though, if I have to be honest, I’d probably have more respect for a mafia boss than for a fairy. Let’s take Don Corleone vs. the Tooth Fairy; who would you root for?  

“Is that so?” Yanovich is sour now that I compared him to a mafia boss. He has to take some sort of revenge, so he immediately adds, “I don’t see how respect-worthy you are, little beasty, being friends with the boy that nearly snatched away your Grand Prix Final gold.”  

That was a dumb retort; he could have done better. Loathing to get Katsudon caught in the cross-fire, I simply reply, “Ah, the Japanese Katsudon? He’s my very special non-friend, for your information, Andrey Yanovich. Right?” I peep at Yuri K. to find out his expression is slightly uncomprehending, but relieved.

“I am that even though I’m not fully aware what it’s supposed to mean.”

“Ah, who said you were supposed to know in the first place?” I pat Katsudon’s back. “Come on, let’s go skate, Yanovich here…”

“Isn’t finished with you, Yuri Plisetsky,” declares crisply the blonde Darcy-Corleone in a navy-blue sporty God knows how expensive suit (but as vegan and eco-friendly as possible, of course).

“What now?!” I fire back. My tolerance for Yanovich has dropped to about -10000000000000000000 since the morning 30 %; when will he realize that it’s an especially bad idea to continue talking to me? 

“Forget it,” he says and stalks back to his car without another word.

Hm, his brain finally caught up with the situation.

I try exhaling my hatred for my un-father and the stress from the ride to the rink. The result is a long sigh that doesn’t end up helping much.

“Uhm, Yuri…” Katsudon starts hesitantly.

“Yes, he’s the male that impregnated the female that gave birth to your one and only non-friend.” _Ugh, that sounds gross!_

“You lied to me when you said there was no drama in your family.” Hallelujah, Yuri K.! Such a ground-breaking statement.

“I’m not sure I have a family so that there can be any drama in it, Katsudon,” I can’t handle any more snippy arguing, so my reasonable self steps in. It’s well past the time I had to start acting mature. This morning shouldn’t have happened. The scene I made while trying to get Yanovich and Petrovna to stop with all the fake family bullshit they make me take part in was a grand embarrassing mistake, which made the Wednesday drive angstier than usual. Being passive, distant and acting bored out of my mind will discourage them so much more, but how do I get myself to behave this way?

“Yuri, are you alright?”

“Yeah, Katsudon, let’s get inside,” I murmur. It’s 1:0 for Yanovich. I failed to change a thing. But the battle has just begun.

“Look, I know you’d probably never talk to me about it, and now is certainly a bad time, but if there’s anything you’d like to share, to ease your mind off…” Piggy trails off. He’s talking as if I’m a minefield, and his voice has the power to set off a string of explosions. I decide that I have to sound as chill as possible, so I utter the following bullshit:

“Ah, simply say you’re curious to find out what’s the big issue between Yanovich and me. You asked me about my family once already; you wouldn’t have, weren’t you interested to know more about it. So, now I’m gonna tell you how I ended up being the Russian Punk. Apart from the fact that a great deal of the punk-ness I probably inherited from the moron Yanovich.”

“Is he like that all the time?” Yuri K. doesn’t seem to like my answer much. Or probably has an issue with my offending Yanovich and calling him Yanovich in the first place. 

“With me, he’s mostly nasty; his non-wife though gets to see the better side of him, I guess. Otherwise, she’d have left him by now.” I can’t help smiling at Katsudon’s dissatisfied expression.  “Don’t worry, I’ll try not to remain a little shit for the rest of my life.” Oh, no, Plisetsky, nasty Yanovich + non-wife enduring him; nasty Viktor + Katsudon enduring him, just hope Katsudon’s reaction wasn’t because of making such a comparison.

“I’m sure you won’t. You’ll obviously turn into a big muscular frowny shit.”

Evil snark coming from Piglet? Ha, look at that! Maybe he’s made the connection, but the attitude it provoked is top!

“No, I won’t, I’ll only grow 20 cm. taller than you,” I say smugly. That’s an exaggeration; it’s probably 13-14 at best.  

Yuri K. stays silent until we finally sit down on a bench by the ice. There’s no trace of Viktor, perfect.

“So… You really are going to tell me? Why?”

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I’m going to make a shield out of my weakness. Just watch… Or listen.” Stay calm, Plisetsky, stay calm and tell it all as if it’s barely a nuisance for you. And it might just become so.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

“First of all, I’m a mistake. On some trashy freshman party, a probably wasted out of his mind Andrey Yanovich hits on the soul of the company Valentina. Condoms, contraceptives, and abortion have been invented for such disgusting cases, but go tell that to the drunk idiots Andryusha and Valya.”

Katsudon’s face is shocked and pitying.  I glare at him. Then I sigh and stop glaring at him.

“Let’s make this clear – I don’t need your sympathy, Piggy. This is not the reason I’m telling you any of this.”

Yuri K. composes himself. Good.

“So, they fuck one night and avoid each other after because they really can’t stand each other once they’re sober. Too bad ‘cause they fail to get rid of me and Valentina moves in with my dedushka so that she saves money from rent. Andrey goes on living on his own, but his guilty conscience makes him visit from time to time. Sooo… A baby no one wanted springs to life in ’01. The one thing Andrey Yanovich does for it is to give some miserable sum to support the people taking care of it…  I wish he never did that; I’d owe him nothing now.”

“But… He’s your father, after all, there’s no way he doesn’t care about you.”

“There is a way.” Are you kidding me, Piggy? There’s no law that you should give a fuck about the spawn you’ve conceived by chance. “I’ve figured it out already – it’s all about his conscience. Some sense of responsibility to ensure his spawn doesn’t die out of hunger. It doesn’t really go beyond that. When I was a kid, he came by from time to time, only to see for himself I was alive. He treated me like shit, but I always found excuses for it. Or Dedushka did. How do you tell a 4-year-old that his fucking father doesn’t love him?”

“Yuri… Your Grandad adores you, and he’s your father’s father. It just doesn’t add up that your father wouldn’t. Look, I saw how he acted this morning, but…” I try not to get mad at this insanely silly comment. Piggy hasn’t heard the full story yet, after all.

“Oi, Katsudon, Katsudon, just listen to the rest. That moron Yanovich left for the USA when I was 5. At the airport, he told me both of us would be lucky if we never saw each other again. Dumb baby me's reaction to this was to learn  how to write in record time so that it could write to him. Fucking postal letters. Because that’s all he gave us – an address in New York, no phone number, no e-mail, no Skype. About one in three letters I wrote got a brief answer. Two years passed; Yanovich excused his lack of desire to fly back for a visit on lack of money, which was probably true, though. Ha, I even started saving up so that he could come home.”

Katsudon’s expression is… bleak. At least he keeps his dumb comments to himself.

“What about your mother?” Oh, well, he says something. But the question is fitting.

“We’ve just arrived at the point in the story when a German TV producer whisked her away to Berlin. She had recently made it to Russian TV; became part of a late-night show and freaking doubled its ratings,” I catch myself bragging proudly. I don’t hate my mother. My feelings for her are messed up, but hatred isn’t among them. “Said German lover-boy was on a work trip to Moscow; I don’t know how exactly they met, but he fell for her hard and got her a job at the channel he worked for. What a love story. They actually wanted to drag me to Berlin with them, but I wanted my dedushka more. And, see, Andrey Yanovich was supposed to be coming back in a year or so.”

“What a family you got, Yurio.” Katsudon seems like having a hard time processing all the information. “Your father is the famous Andrey Yanovich, isn’t he?”

“Ha, that’s why you still can’t quite believe he’s a jerk, isn’t it? You’ve read articles painting him as the Russian Jesus Christ, who’s gonna save humanity from itself with the renewable energy of the future. He’s just a greedy businessman, Yuri. Dima is the big deal – Dmitry, the man who keeps inventing all the stuff, freaking revolutionized hydrogen fuel cells, magic wind generators that squeeze electricity out of areas with normal to little wind like here in Saint Misersburg… Or the wind to hydrogen ones his team is currently working on. Dima’s a genius and a great guy.”

Yuri K. refrains from commenting, this time for real.

“So, I continue writing my letters. At one point I start receiving printed ones; I think it’s cool my dad’s become more modern, but, see, he still refuses to communicate with me in a less medieval manner than freaking letters. It’s been more than four years, and I’m real angry. Then, one day, I rummage through the daily ‘paper Grandad’s been reading. There’s a bookmark on a page with a short article about “Dimandrey”, a new renewable energy company based in Saint Petersburg, founded by Andrey and Dmitry, two college friends from Columbia University, etcetera…” For the record – freaking DimAndrey xD ;D, the world’s shittiest company name!! ;D ;D ;D

“But… how?! What about the letters you received?!” wide-eyed Katsudon exclaims.

“He’d stopped writing me back two years ago. All the printed letters had been from Grandad. I re-read them; they sounded much warmer than anything Yanovich had managed to come up with. He had come back to Russia a couple of months ago and settled down in Saint Petersburg. He’d called Grandad at least to let him know. Dedushka hadn’t said a word to me because how would he have explained that Yanovich was back and had chosen Saint Misersburg over Moscow? The last letter I’d received “from America” stated Yanovich’d be coming back soon. Grandad hoped Yanovich would at least come to see me and explain himself.”

“I just… Don’t understand him. Why would he do that to you? It’s… cruel. Yuri, I’m sorry, the articles about him are rather convincing and… I plainly don’t know what to say. How did you end up living with him? You live with him, right?”

“Yeah, I do. I wanted nothing to do with him after I found out about the letters. But a few months later Yakov Feltsman offered to train me, and you don’t pass on an opportunity like that. I couldn’t want from Dedushka to move here with me; finding a good job at his age in a city where he has no connections would have been tough. Besides, he loves Moscow, all his friends live there, and his small house is the only thing that connects him to his deceased wife, Granny Yana… But this man would do anything for me, I know he would have moved without my asking for it. Had stupid Andrey not offered to take me in in his brand-new house with his brand-new girlfriend.”

“He offered it?”

“Strange, isn’t it? I’m still not sure what his motivations were. Had Natalya, the girlfriend, and Dedushka made him do it? Probably, both of them still encourage me not to hate Yanovich. So, my options were either make my Grandad move to Misersburg or live with my evil un-father. Option three was taking up the boarding offer of my current sports school, but Dedushka wouldn’t even hear about it. In the end, I had no choice but to move in with Yanovich, and I’ve been living with him and Natalya in fucking Rybatskoye ever since. Fights and insults are an inseparable part of this unique experience; this morning was relatively mundane, really.”

Katsudon sits quietly next to me, no glasses obscuring these big brown doe eyes of his (I can safely bet he’s the only Japanese alive with eyes that large; only Yuuko comes somewhat close). I find them oddly comforting. I don’t want him to say a word and he doesn’t; there’s understanding in the silence. Despite our contrasting backgrounds, despite our opposing tempers, in that moment I’m convinced Yuri K. _understands_.      

That’s more than I bargained for.

A beat passes, and I simply want to cry that I’ve told somebody for the first time, and he somehow freaking _understands,_ but then I realize that now that I’ve told Katsudon, I’m free. Or at least not as caged up as I was, with this shitty life in Rybatskoye, I was embarrassed by. I guess I’m still embarrassed by it, but something has broken loose. I’ve taken a step forward. I’ve evened the score. It’s 1:1 now, and I finally believe with complete certainty this is a game I won’t let Yanovich win.

By Murphy’s law, anything that can go wrong will go wrong, so Viktor barges in just then, unabashedly late. On second thought, he actually picks the right moment. Seconds ago, I was on the verge of bursting into tears like a little crybaby; now I feel stronger than ever. I glance at Viktor, who nods a silent greeting. He’s definitely worse for wear than the day before, he has bags under his eyes and whatever color his strange hair usually is can now pass for the grey of any 70-year-old man.

Katsudon’s eyes linger on him with momentary concern before they look away indifferently. Viktor starts putting on his skates clumsily; he’s the Viktor-bot from the day before, looking like he’s spent the night in a torture room.

I’m more than aware exactly how shitty this training session’s gonna be, and I don’t want to stay for the show. Right after my freeing talk with Yuri K., I feel allergic towards any kind of oppressive situations.

I stand up and peer at them. Katsudon looks back at me questioningly. Viktor’s sunken in skates-lacing like it’s the most important occupation in the world. I decide that I'll give them my honest opinion on their fucked up situation, let them do whatever the heck they want with it. 

“I feel sorry for you two. You could have killed it this season together. Now you can barely look at each other. What’s sick about this whole thing is that you’ve kept dragging each other down for more than two months. Viktor, you look like beaten to the death robotized zombie ass. Katsudon, I don’t know what your deal is with the stupid coiffed hair and fancy clothes, but you’re not looking like yourself at all. So, maybe it’s time to put a stop to this degradation trip. The engagement was somewhat disgusting, but this right here,” I gesture over them, “makes me sick to the stomach.”

“Nobody’s making you stay.” The phrase I hurl at anybody that complains about my govno behavior.

Yuri K. stares at me with his large honey eyes feigning boredom. Has Katsudon just fucking said that?!! How can he say that NOW?! A lump forms in my throat, and I have to make a pause before continuing. As I consider my options, the creepy coldness from the day before settles over me. I know what I have to do; it's crystal clear. 

“Point taken, Yuri Katsuki, which is why I’m leaving. There’s nothing for me left here in Misersburg. No coach, no family, and zombified friends I can do nothing for and who don’t want me anyway. You see, I’m drawing the line between Andrey Yanovich and me tonight. I advise you to do the same with one another; the sooner, the better; in my experience, unhealthy relationships only get worse with time.”

Viktor’s blue eyes shimmer with vulnerability, forming the most terrifying please-hug-me look there is (What the heck, Nikiforov, you've got 13 years on me, I'm not your momma!). At least now he displays human emotion (crybaby emotion, to be precise). Meanwhile, Piggy FREAKING POUTS at me frivolously as if I was standing in the way of some game they were playing with Viktor.

Damn, this is one hell of a freak show.

“Thanks, Viktor, for yesteraday. Katsudon, thanks for today. I hope you don’t destroy each other. If you catch a glimpse of Yakov, tell him I’m leaving town. I’ll be training on my own for a while.”

Somebody has put my skates in a cool brand-new rucksack after I left them discarded on the floor. I run my fingers over the white tiger-patterned fabric. White Tiger.  Ice Tiger.

Viktor reaches out and grips my hand.

“Yurio, where are you going?” He sounds like he cares, for real.

“I don’t know. Maybe Kazakhstan.”

He nods with a strange looking face and lets me go. “Take care.”

“You take care. Of that crazy Katsudon, too.” I actually decide Katsudon is the crazier of the two. He’s scrolling through Phichit’s Instagram page like Viktor and I couldn’t matter less. This, after he listened to my entire life-story? I want to try talking to him, but the lump in my throat rises again and I simply can’t. I leave hastily the creepily silent rink, the only place in Misersburg I could call home. Not anymore. I pull out my phone. An opened message from June 20th appears as I unlock the screen.

 **LAME!VITYA!FUCKING!VICKY!GORG…:** Yurio, you’ll be training with Yuuri and me from 8 am every day for the rest of the week. Yakov might show up for individual sessions during the weekend, but all group ones are called off. Please, don’t freak out. ;* Call me tonight and show up tomorrow!!

It’s not like I called him, but I did show up despite my better judgment. _Give me a call, once you decide to be a proper coach again,_ I tap down quickly. The message I send to Yakov Feltsman.  

  

...xXxXxXx…

 

I slowly appraise my room in Andrey Yanovich’s house. It’s spacious; with large windows and a glass door that leads to a porch by the riverbank. I’ve already packed all the stuff I need in two large suitcases, woolen coats and boots included. I won’t be coming back here again; I also can’t run the risk of Yanovich throwing out or freaking burning my winter clothes.   

There are plenty of things left in the room, though. For once, it’s entirely covered in rock and metal posters. The shelves are full of all kinds of shit. Take for instance the large puma with high-quality synthetic fur, the gold-plated tiger statue, and the stuffed once alive scorpion, encased in glass. These are the presents ridiculous me chose for his eleventh birthday together with Andrey Yanovich.  I’ve little clue how he agreed buying what he would normally dub as useless crap, and not cheap by any means – the **gold** -plated tiger we got from a classy Misersburg gallery; it’s a beautiful piece of art! I hope he sells him instead of merely dumping him in the trash (ah, he’s greedy, so he probably won’t throw him away – yeah, him, his name is – don’t laugh at me, Steinmeier – Bernd).

Though Yanovich had his revenge on me for spending that much money on bullshit presents – he called me “little Puma-Tiger-Scorpion” for years…

I immediately look away from my Puma-Tiger-Scorpion shelf. The rest are mainly filled with books and CDs (yeah; I’ve bought plenty music CDs despite having everything I want illegally downloaded – it was at Yanovich’s expense after all). As a matter of fact, the books were bought during the same “spend Yanovich’s money on anything that catches your eye” period. I’ve got beautiful, luxurious editions of classic novels most of which I haven’t even read. Last but not least, there’s the one shelf stuffed with sci-fi bullshit, my way of escapism from fucking Rybatskoye (besides skating, of course, which is therapy for everything, really). Yanovich has been criticizing me for years for the sci-fi books and comics he indirectly bought for me. Let him have the chance to destroy them.

I throw the room a disappointed look. I really shouldn’t have bought all this stuff with Yanovich’s money; I would owe him much less. At least it’s not like I’m taking any of this crap with me; he will have his money back paid in freakin’ comic books, too.

I leave my keys on a shelf and get my suitcases near the front door. Usually, I use the door facing the river in my room to exit the house, but it has to be locked from the outside. However, instead of leaving, I climb the stairs to a room inhabited by the one resident of the house that I want to bid farewell to.

I walk silently into a colorful sunlit room. The 1-year-old little beastie is supposed to be asleep during the brief time she spends alone, from the time the nanny leaves to when Natalya comes home from work. But since it’s Anastasia Andreyevna Plisetskaya we’re talking about, she is on her feet, supporting herself with one hand, and awkwardly trying to box the moon and stars hanging over her baby bed with the other.  

As she spots me, she beams and shouts something in her unintelligible baby language. For a second, she forgets to hold to the bed bars for support and nearly falls on her butt.

I laugh at her and scoop her up into my arms. She laughs, too. Her eyes are light-green, the same as mine and Yanovich’s, but she’s the person they look the best on. They are so large, almond, and sparkly and have this friendly and amused look to them that makes baby Ani always appear joyful. They also make a nice contrast to her dark brown wiry wild hair – she has Natalya’s crazy curly hair that almost seems African.

I pet her on the soft foamy top of her head, and she keeps smiling at me. Gosh, this baby girl is adorable!!! I may hate little girls, but this little girl in my arms is illegally cute!!

I can’t help kissing her forehead. In return, she starts cooing things with her tooth-decayingly sweet baby voice.

“Moy slavneey katyonak (= my sweet kitten), your stupid bratik (diminutive for brother) Yuri can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

Yeah, that’s right, she’s the cute little kitten, all the people calling me that are retarded!

My baby sestrichka (= sis) laughs at me again. She does that all the time. I really, really don’t mind.

“I have to go now, baby Ani,” I tell her then and look her in the eye. She catches my no-joke tone, and the smile fades from her face. Oh, no, baby sis, don’t! I don’t want to make you sad! What the hell have I done?!?!?! I’m such a jerk!

“You are going to be fine, alright? Mama Talya will take good care of you.”

Her eyes don’t light up even when I mention Natalya! What do I do now? Her big sad green eyes are wide open, and her brows are shooting up, and her lips are curled! Is she shocked or angry? How can she be? Does she truly understand that I’m leaving and I have no idea when and whether I’ll see her again?!

“Sshh,” I start bouncing her up and down; I can’t bear looking at her right now.

I don’t know about my baby sister, but I’m about to start shedding fucking tears! I swallow, trying to get my voice back.

“You are Ani _Plisetskaya_ , do you hear me? This means there’s nothing you can’t live through. You are the bravest little girl in the whole world,” I try my best calming voice, but Ani’s eyes are still sorrowful. Is she somehow picking up on my mood?

I have to disappear straightaway if I want to leave unnoticed. But there’s this perturbed little baby in my arms that’s got me nailed in one place.

“I really have to go now, Ani,” I repeat. The baby grunts defiantly. What the heck am I supposed to do now?

“Go where, exactly?”

I turn around with Ani in my arms to see Natalya Petrovna standing with crossed arms by the door. She’s about my height, but that doesn’t hinder her from looking fucking dangerous.

I have no intention of letting her ruin my plans though.

“Wherever I want. I’m moving out of this wretched place. I’m 16 and I earn my own living,” Yeah, Yanovich and everybody might take me for a silly brat, and I almost believed them, but I skate in **men’s** singles and I’m **16** already. If I can win Worlds senior gold, then no one can stop me from living on my own.

“Yes, you’re 16, very well underage. Where do you think you’ll go once you walk out that door?”

“I’ll crash at Viktor’s until I find a suitable apartment. He’ll sign the rental contract for me,” I lie. That might have worked, was Viktor in his right mind. I’m not going for anything in the world into that wasp nest his apartment must be now with Katsudon and him there.

“Is that right?” Natalya Petrovna doesn’t seem to believe me. Has she talked to Viktor or what?? “I think that you’re just dropping everything and running away,” she says steely brandishing… my plane ticket to Almaty! Damn, I must have left it on one of the suitcases for some reason!

“No, I’m not! I’m going to Kazakhstan to visit my friend Otabek Altin! I’ll train together with him for a while; his coach agreed to it!” I shout the truth. I talked to Beka. His coach gave the green light. Damn, Ani shifts in my arms and I note she’s a little scared. I kiss her, and she calms down a little.

Natalya’s mahogany eyes get warmer. I nearly blush; it’s not like I usually kiss Ani in front of anyone.

“Does Yakov know about your trip? And do you know where you’ll live after you get back?” she asks. I know she gives a damn because she’s the kind of person who would give a damn about any homeless 16-year-old. Nothing more than that, though, it’s not like she’s my mother or something.

“Yakov has gone nuts. He’s called off all training sessions for the week and answers his phone only to Viktor, who already knows about Kazakhstan. I have no coach right now, so I found a placeholder. After I get back, I can crash at Viktor’s, at Mila’s, at Georgi’s, at Yakov’s, or at Lilia’s until I find a permanent place.” Yeah, right, I wish I could. Natalya seems convinced, though; she gives me my plane ticket back. 

“I… I wish there was something I could do to keep you here, but… I will miss you, Yuri. We will miss you,” she smiles sadly and caresses Ani’s face. Little baby sis frowns (looking briefly a bit like Yanovich, damn it) and starts blabbering something with agitation. Natalya and I look at her worriedly.

“Natalya! What are Yuri’s suitcases doing by the front door?! They’re fucking full!” Natalya and I trade unnerved glances. The cursed Yanovich is back early!! We hear him opening and closing doors loudly in search of anybody. Then he thunderously enters the baby room. This is sooo where I’ve inherited my anger problems from, Steinmeier (fine, alright, I’m not always in control of my temper --> but I’m still a teen, isn’t that normal?).

I take a deep breath. My leaving is gonna go the hard way.

“What are you doing to my daughter, Plisetsky?!” he screams, for some reason. This guy has some serious issues.

“I’m assassinating this cute little girl, Yanovich,” I smile at baby sis, who needs soothing again.

“Cut the crap, and tell me where do you reckon you’re going with those suitcases?” Yanovich asks in a more humane manner.

“I’m leaving this house, Andrey Yanovich,” I reply as composedly as possible with a straight posture and, hopefully, unwavering gaze. You’re not gonna stop me, un-father!

“What?! No, you’re not. Put your sister down and unpack this instant!”

“No.”

We stare at each other for a while. Yanovich looks like he can’t fucking believe he’s not scary enough to make me obey him. Truth is, I’ve rarely obeyed him when I didn’t want to. But it’s also true that I’ve never dared to openly do anything going much against the house rules.

It’s a precarious game I’m playing. I shouldn’t anger him because he can simply pick me up and frigging lock me in my room. If only just to spite me. I must slay him with facts he can’t argue against.

“You never wanted me here in the first place, Yanovich. You moved to Saint Petersburg so that you would be a comfortable distance away from me. You didn’t write me back for two years. You left me without coming back to visit for five. You didn’t even live with me for the five years of my life during which you were in Moscow! Remember what you told me at Sheremetyevo right before your flight to New York? Well, I’m the one telling these words to you this time – it’ll be for both our good if we never see each other again.”

Damn, I said it. I said this to his face. My voice cracked a little, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because Yanovich can’t dispute his own words. I will win this. I will be free. Unless I bulk under the pressure.

My body is so tense that I’m convinced it’ll explode unless I end this high-strung conversation this minute. Let it, at least I’ll die a free man. My fingers are shaking, but I succeed in getting out of my pocket several sheets of paper folded together. However, at this moment an opinionated 1-year-old starts ranting unintelligibly and moving in my right hand. I wrap my left hand that’s still gripping the sheets around her, too, lest I drop her. _Anastasia, stop sabotaging me!_ I look at her furiously, she looks back at me with her big baby eyes, and says earnestly one word:

“Yuri!”

My jaw drops. She can speak?! She just said my name?!?! I turn my gaze to Petrovna and Yanovich. They are as astounded as I am. Is my name the first word she’s ever said?

_It doesn’t matter Plisetsky, it doesn’t matter, you have to finish what you started!_

I hand the papers to Yanovich, whose attention snaps back to me and the situation at hand. I can see his body tense, too, and his frown wrinkles get deeper than ever as he unfolds the documents. The baby gives out an angry yelp in an attempt to steal the spotlight again, but I’ve no intention of letting her do that.

“The money will be in your bank account soon, according to the transactional time of the different banks. Everything is here – all the money you sent me from America and my educated guess of how much you spent on me in Moscow and Saint Petersburg. I have roughly calculated the six year’s rent of a room like mine in a house like this in Rybatskoye and included it, too. If there’s anything I’ve missed, I’ll gladly add it. I haven’t included compensation for lost time or emotional damage suffered because this has been mutual in the course of the last 16 years 3 months and 20 days.”

As I take a breath after saying all this at maximum speed, Yanovich skims through the invoices. He looks at me afterward. His mouth opens and closes. The bastard is fucking speechless!! Damn sure he is!!!

“I don’t owe you a thing anymore, Andrey Yanovich. Good riddance,” I declare in cold fucking triumph.

But at this moment, I realize I’m still holding Anastasia _Andreyevna_. She has been oddly silent throughout my second improvised speech… _She’s none of your concern, Plisetsky._

“And here’s your daughter back, too,” I hiss like some wild cat and shove the baby towards Yanovich. He has no choice but to take it, holding it nearly as awkwardly as a person who’s never held a baby in his life would.

I walk past all three of them. I don’t even look at Natalya who observed the final scene as silently as her daughter did. I reach the door, but then a horrible sound spreads across the room; Ani is crying louder than I’ve ever heard her cry in my life. It makes my eyes water; I immediately regret handing her that roughly to none other than Andrey Yanovich who doesn’t really treat her that much better than he treats me.

But I can’t go back now. And even if I do, what will change for her? She’ll still have a shitty father for life.

I close the door, and I lean on it to gather some strength.

“Take this baby from me, Natalya!” I hear over the crying.

“This baby is your daughter Andrey Yanovich Plisetsky! You will learn to communicate with her!”

“Communicate? She is crying her lungs out, she doesn’t like me one bit, just take her!”

_Moron. Hold on there, baby sis._

I fly down the stairs in a sudden desire to get away from Yanovich’s house as soon as possible.

I slam the front door behind me victoriously. My suitcases together weigh only a little less than I do, but I’m pulling them forward and running effortlessly.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

It’s 8.30 pm at Sheremetyevo Airport, Moscow. I intentionally booked a shitty connection flight. I needed to be here tonight.

Terminal D. There are people lining for their flights to New York, JFK. As there were 11 years ago.

Perhaps there will be a day when I’ll come here and feel nothing. But it will be a long time from now.

I slowly drag my suitcases towards Terminal F. They seem much heavier now.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

I yawn. I’m having a hard time deciding whether I’m more tired than hungry. I’d probably opt for hungry because I had eaten very little the day before and there’d been hardly anything edible on the plain. I’d gotten some sleep though.

“Damn!” I shout as I spot my suitcases nearing the end of the carousel. I run over, not wishing to wait for them to re-appear. I somehow manage to pull them both off in time. They are fucking heavy, the cursed things!

The closer to the exit I am the more nervous I get. Otabek is waiting for me right at the arrivals section of the terminal; he texted me minutes ago. He probably fucking woke up at 4 am to be here at 5 _because of me_. He’s been waiting for 20 minutes because of the flight delay.

What do I do when I meet him? What do I say? I haven’t seen him in person for months!

I should have just stayed in Moscow with my dedushka!!

As a matter of fact, I had given this thorough consideration. But there are photos of Andrey Yanovich all over Dedushka’s house. Baby Andrey, boy Andrey, teen Andrey, grown-up Andrey with baby Yuri, older Andrey with teen Yuri. I also have memories of said Andrey there. It is too much to bear right now.

I’m still thinking of Andrey as someone bigger than me steps in my way and grips me by the shoulders, firmly, and yet gently.

“Yuri!”

I freeze. I’m probably blushing as I make myself lift my head up and shake the fallen hair back.

Here’s Otabek Altin staring at me with his dark eyes. I shiver. Why the hell is he looking me like that?! It’s only making me feel more uncomfortable!!

“Yuri, are you alright?” he asks. His voice is… deep and pleasant, as always, and… worried? One of his hands slides towards my back and I jump anxiously in my place. He pulls back.

_Fuck, Plisetsky, get a grip and power up your brain!_

“Uh, Otabek, hi, sorry, I’m still sort of sleepy.” Stupid, stupid, stupid, he woke up at 4, but that doesn’t mean he’s acting like a retard, too.

There’s just a small trace of a smile on his face.

“Dobroe utro, sonya.” Did he just call me a sleepyhead?

“You fucking drag your entire shit from Misersburg to Kazakhstan, and we’ll see how energetic you’ll be by the end of the ride!”   

It is then that Otabek notices my enormous suitcases and eyes them astonished.  In an instant, it hits me how my bringing all my stuff to Almaty might look from Otabek’s point of view.

“Damn it, I’m not moving in with you!!” I shout out, embarrassed as hell.

Otabek… plain GRINS at my fervent denial. “I wouldn’t mind if you were, Yura.”

He’s snatched both my suitcases and started rolling them towards the exit by the time I process this is the first time I’ve seen an actual toothed smile of his and that he’s just said that he’d… gladly have me as a roommate?  

I quickly catch up with him; I’ve made quite enough of a fool of myself already; no need to get caught standing still and gaping at him.

“You shouldn’t have come to the airport this early. I could have caught a cab or something,” I say because coming so freaking early here is abnormally nice.

“I wanted to, Yura.”

His black eyes are on me again, and I’ve no clue what’s in his head AGAIN. He’s frustrating with the way he can shoot you down with this penetrating gaze without revealing a chunk of information about himself.

He smirks. Did I let my frustration show? Before I can blurt out something silly and probably offensive at him, he adds: “We’ll arrive just in time for breakfast. Early rising and eating together is a family tradition.”

Family tradition? I frown. He’s probably spotted my odd expression, so he elaborates, “My parents place much value on simple things like eating together. They’re both early risers, so breakfast is obscenely early in the morning. They literally drag me out of bed, in case I oversleep.”

Ah, Otabek’s adopted after all (he told me so in Barcelona); that’s why his parents probably aren’t too nice to him. Bad luck. But, wait just a minute, parents, traditions --> he’s still living with his parents!!

“You’re still living at your parent’s place?” Are you kidding me? I’m 16, and I just moved out. Lame-ass Katsudon moved to the States at 18 and spent 5 fucking years there before going back home. And Otabek here…

“You got a problem with that?” Otabek’s suddenly defensive. 

“I’d better stay at a hotel; I don’t want to intrude on anybody.” I’ve not escaped from one dysfunctional family to come live with another! And he’s gonna introduce me to his parents right away? No way!

“My parents gave their permission for your stay. And I live with them according to Altin tradition.”

Tradition this, tradition that, what’s this family bullshit? What exactly have I signed myself up for?

Good that there are daily flights back to my dedushka in Moscow…

I’m probably scowling, as Otabek stops and grabs me by the shoulders for the second time.

“Yura, we’re going to have one hell of a time together,” he promises with sparkling eyes.

I don’t know why I suddenly can’t help smiling wickedly, like a total idiot, this weird family situation of his all but forgotten. Almost.

“Your parents are NOT dragging me out of bed at 5 am every morning,” I state. 

“Guest or not, they will do it if you’re late. Mark my words.” Otabek’s little all-mysterious smile is back. He proceeds to pull a pair of keys out of his pocket, and the trunk door of a big black Lexus next to us opens.

 _Otabek Altin’s either got a shitload of sponsors, or his parents are dirty rich,_ I conclude. That SUV, with a fucking glass roof, perhaps costs as much as Yanovich’s Tesla. What the heck does his father drive then? A golden car?

Though, in all honesty, I sort of suspected Otabek would show up with a big black SUV. I just didn’t expect it to be that bloody expensive… As he drives, I reminisce once more of my moving out of Yanovich’s house, a pair of large bright-green eyes haunting me. My baby sister called my name, and I tossed her to Yanovich like some unanimated object, say a sack of potatoes. That’s the most repulsive thing I’ve done to date, no doubt about it. I so gotta find some sneaky way to visit this girl from time to time, now that we’ll live apart... Last year, I left for Japan days after she was born. This year, I left for Kazakhstan hours after she called me by name for the first time. Damn, I should have just kidnapped her this time around!!

Otabek seems to notice my foul mood, and he plays a song by a band I’m currently obsessed with. I smile my silent thanks. This is a person I get on with like a charm; he understands without words, and he comforts the same discrete way, while people like Yanovich don’t shut up and hurt you with every 2nd word they say. Too bad I end up being his type of person far too often.

 

...xXxXxXx…

 

A good deal of great rock songs later, we’re waiting for the tall black steel doors to a large five-story house-castle with a fairytale-style garden in front of it to open.

“You’ve never cared to mention a thing about THAT to me before?” I gesture at the sight in front of us half-nervous, half-mad.

“Does it matter?” he asks with his usual unreadable poker-face.

 _It damn well matters, you fool!_ I could have at least gotten dressed in a _presentable manner_. I cringe at what Lilia would say about my black T-shirt with a big angry tiger mug at the front and my second-best tiger pattern sweatshirt. My favorite one got eternal-flamed after all, so I had to go with this one. Unfortunately, both are no good for meeting the owners of a fucking castle.

“Damn, talk to me!” Otabek interrupts my panicked thoughts.

I throw him an astounded look. Otabek Altin, losing his cool? He closes his eyes briefly.

“Sorry, just… Don’t keep to yourself anything that upsets you.” It was a plea, of sorts. It dumb-struck me.

“I… It’s fine, I just hope your parents won’t take me for a loon when they see me covered in tiger prints.”

“Better fear the possibility of them finding you adorable. Then they won’t stop pestering you with questions.”

“What the hell?!” storms my mind and gets blurted out on the spot.

“You might hate it, but that’s how you look all the time. Tiger prints add to it.”

I glower at Otabek who ignores me while parking the car.

As we get off, a man approaches and greets us in Russian. In answer, Otabek frigging orders him to take my suitcases to my suite!

“No need, I can manage, I’m not some fucking lady!” Uh, Plisetsky, forget swearing on Altin castle-palace-mansion grounds.

“You are an honorable guest of Mr. Otabek, blah-blah-blah…” the man replies. I just thank him and follow said Mr. Otabek.

“We have lots of staff, just let them do their jobs. They feel uncomfortable otherwise.” Feeling uncomfortable not catering to some teen govno like me? I have my doubts, but I keep them to myself because we enter the castle-palace-mansion-house-thing. An enormous dining room is situated right by the main entrance.

I hope I don’t look as poor and dumb as I feel following Otabek into the luxurious room (note that Yanovich is damn well-off, my mother is a TV star in Germany, and I’m the reigning Ice-Tiger-King). Inside, a quite fat, bald and short man in his fifties and a younger, thinner, taller dark-haired and dark-eyed beautiful woman are sitting by themselves at a large vintage table and having breakfast with the aid of what I presume is golden cutlery.

Otabek’s fat non-biological father’s lips stretch into an impossibly wide smile.

“You must be Yuri!” he rumbles, and seconds later I’m squeezed towards a giant round stomach. Fucking great, Otabek’s father seems as goofy as a certain Viktor Nikiforov once he finds himself in Hasetsu, Japan. The mother’s much less _extra_ , from the few words she utters I gather she’s the one Otabek’s taken after with his _talkativeness_.

Much to my annoyance, big-belly Papa Bulat takes to posing questions immediately. The good thing is that he loves talking so much that the questions get lost between tales about his starboy Otabek’s first figure skating medal, first time on the ice, pet snake (yeah, a motherfucking snake!) and so on. Mama Aynur, surprisingly, gets out of her shell each time Otabek becomes the topic of discussion and keeps correcting Bulat’s narration and further embellishing it.    

Wait just a minute; they were supposed to be far less caring given that Otabek isn’t even their actual son… I can’t believe my eyes and ears as I continue taking in the Altins’ ridiculously _loving_ and at the same time utterly casual interaction. Do they really do this all the time – talk to each other as if nothing matters more than their mutual well-being and as if Otabek’s winning some puny local competition is an epic event of colossal magnitude?

This silly breakfast is just too confusing for me. I’m starved here, but I can barely eat; I don’t even know why. When I sense fat Bulat’s about to ask me something again ‘cause he’s been talking non-stop for far too long, I interrupt him with a question.

“What do you do for a living actually?” Yeah, good question, why the hell do you live in a fucking palace?

“Ah, you don’t know? My, my, I thought my dear boy has cared to mention a thing or two about his parents. Oh, well, why would he talk to you about boring old people?” Bulat’s disappointed voice turns mischievous. That man can **_NEVER_** get even remotely close to angry with his son; now it’s official. Can I trade a 35-year-old handsome well-off jerk for a 50-something goofy fat happy Bulat?

As it turns out, fat Bulat’s the head of Kazakhstan’s biggest petrol company. I gather that from Aynur and Otabek who make sure to revise the man’s rather modest description of his position in the said company. Duh, can’t fat Bulat just talk straight? Though now that I know where his money comes from, a little imaginary Andrey Yanovich starts spitting shit in my head aimed at poor Bulat.

_“A petrol magnate from frigging Kazakhstan? Cursed sleazy **oligarch**!! They come in two revelations, the mongrels – fat and seemingly harmless, but actually damn cunning, or good-looking ripped ones some of whom are actually dumber than Jim Carrey in “Dumb and Dumber”, but are damn fucking vicious to compensate for the lack of brain cells. So, good luck with the obese individuum across the table. You’ve brought this on yourself!” _

While Andrey Yanovich continues insisting on making my life a living hell even when he’s kilometers away from me, Bulat’s already asked me in turn what my parents do for a living. Awesome, let’s discuss Andrey Yanovich, why not?

“Well, my (un!!!-)father is in the renewable energy business. My mother though…” Bulat isn’t that interested in my mom ‘cause he buts in the minute the sentence about my un-father’s finished rolling out of my mouth.

“Renewable energy in Russia? That’s rather… _unusual_. There’s only one man currently making it big on renewable energy there, but who knows how long even he’ll last. Don’t get me wrong; it’s just that countries like Russia and Kazakhstan aren’t that supportive of renewable energy companies with the vast oil resources at hand. I guess cheers to your father for making it in that business.”

Bulat raises a toast with a cup of coffee and suspicions in my mind. Is imaginary Yanovich really that far from the truth? Maybe not.

“My father is the one man you just mentioned,” I declare. Duh, he’s not _the man_ , it’s DIMAndrey, after all, but I’m certain Bulat was talking about my father, not Dima.

“Andrey Yanovich? How curious…” I can swear Bulat is sizing me up with his small apparently cheerful eyes. Or it might be that Yanovich has simply made me incurably paranoid. “I didn’t know he was Andrey Yanovich Plisetsky.”

“He just doesn’t want to get overshadowed by his son,” Otabek jokes to save my sorry ass from talking about my un-father. Even Otabek is different though. Here, with Aynur and Bulat, he’s more open and easy-going than I’ve ever seen him. I don’t know if I know this Otabek at all.

“Hahahahha!” Bulat’s stomach is shaking with laughter. “Your father is a clever man, Yuri, the only Altin from Almaty that’s famous right now is Otabek. No one has even heard of poor old Bulat.”

As he’s finished laughing, Bulat looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Hmm, I doubt your father would be pleased to find out Otabek Altin and Bulat Altin are related. He’s made his opinion on those involved in the petrol business rather well-known.”

 _Of course he has!_ I bet my face grows red as I realize Yanovich’s publicly insulted Otabek’s father indirectly on plenty occasions. 

Bulat laughs again and says something like “Haha, no worries, lad!” but he fails to convince me. I start watching him closely and paying more attention to his behavior, and it’s there to see – a wariness of me. “You’re welcome and treated with respect in my home so long as you’re a perfect friend to my son and make him happy,” is what his actions tell. Now I’m damn sure he’s that nice only because Otabek sort-of likes me, not because he’s as nice a person as he appears to be. Andrey Yanovich is a jerk, but he’s a smart one (when it comes to reading people that aren’t part of his un-family).

Does it really matter, though? Fat Bulat here might be the worst oligarch of them all, but I’d still live with him than with the worst father of them all. To all would-be fathers: better be an evil oligarch and a great dad than a shitdad and a renewable energy god. 

I observe this breakfast drag on with a sick feeling. I can’t stomach such a blatant reminder of what I’ll never have the morning after I finally left my un-family in Rybatskoye. They are not even eating anymore; Bulat’s on his third cup of coffee as he praises Otabek on his motorcycle driving skills and DJing, hobbies many parents would discourage their kids from pursuing. I get it why the Altins eat so early – Bulat’s addicted to endless blabbering and joking around with his family (maybe to coffee, too), and otherwise he’d be late for work.

The three of them even start repeating themselves; here’s Otabek’s snake again hunting her living mice for lunch in her giant glass aquarium and scaring the shit out of some British businessman the day before (the guy figured the snake was coming to get him, failing to notice the glass or the mice). The Brit wasn’t thrilled to watch the blue-eyed freakish white python kill off the little rodents afterward either.

“Ahahaha, what if he owns a bunch of hamsters?! Or guinea pigs?” Bulat laughs once more at the man’s expense.

“Dad keeps inviting people into Lucy’s living room, and she somehow keeps unsettling most of them. It’s just my Lucy, and she’s locked in an aquarium, I don’t really get what puts them off,” Otabek explains to me. Well, probably the fact that freaking Lucy is a leucistic ball python longer than I'm tall.

“My dear boy, you know that’s how I find out which ones are no good doing business with,” Bulat coos.

“Yeah, that’s right, we don’t need people that don’t like our Lucy!” Otabek grins at his father like a whimsical child.

That’s it. I’m finished. Imagine Andrey Yanovich picking his business partners according to their attitude towards my pet snake (that even has its own room!). Otabek’s family is fucking heartbreakingly ridiculous, even if Bulat wasn’t being serious about the snake. I can’t survive a minute more of this already hour-long breakfast.

“Otabek, where did you say my room was?” It’s not like he did, but I try being less straightforward.

“Fifth floor, first door to the elevator’s left,” Otabek frowns, his carefree mood shattered.

“Excuse me, I forgot I had to make an important call,” I lie, my voice plain pathetic. I slip out of the room fast, wondering how many red points I just scored in Bulat’s “Make my starboy happy” notebook. Perhaps there’s no need to unpack at all.

Behind the door left to the elevator, there’s a whole frigging apartment. I huddle on the bed in the bedroom, painfully aware of how fucked I am. Why me? I swear it, I was like every other little kid; all I wished for being a normal family, parents that lived together and if not loved then at least not hated each other; parents for whom I wasn’t an unwanted burden.  

But the years rolled along, and both of them left me, my dedushka remaining the only person who’s ever truly cared about me. My living with Yanovich in Misersburg was a sad and torturous attempt at rebuilding a family that never existed.

So, yesterday, I was the one to leave. A house, I had no place in. After the ride to the rink with Yanovich, it was damn clear I would find no peace until I was finally on my own. Luckily, I’m 16 and had about 77 000 dollars left from the competition awards last season. Winning senior gold is ten times more lucrative than winning at the junior level. Anyways, since Yanovich refused to fund my skating, most of my junior money from competitions went for paying non!nuts Yakov, plane tickets, costumes, etc. 

Well, I was rich for two months, now I’m poor again. I spent 100,000 US dollars on buying my freedom from Yanovich.  Worst of all, a good deal of the money my mother’s been sending me are gone, too, and those are money I’ll probably be paying back as well. Now I have no choice but to spend the rest of them on renting some shithole to live in, food and covering my skating expenses.

I’ll be even relying financially on my shady wealthy Chinese sponsor (a guy I wanted nothing to do with in the first place). Seems like I’ll  have to win competitions to survive the season, go out of debt towards my mom, and be independent of dumbass sponsors!

So, I’m huddled here in a palace I’ll be made to leave in no time, on a shoestring budget, homeless, family-less, friendless, coach-less, and, honestly, hopeless. Here’s Yuri Plisetsky, the 16-year-old tough Russian man skating in men’s singles, now crying on a bed in his rival’s home ‘cause his mama and papa don’t hold him by the hand and buy him expensive snakes that have their own rooms and are allowed to make business decisions.

To my utter horror, the door opens, and I hear Otabek call my name.

“Just leave, please, just…” I reply shakily, humiliated by him seeing me in such a state.

The bed dips, and two hands are wrapped securely around me from behind. Otabek’s so close that I can feel his chest rising and falling. This is my Otabek, my grown-up, independent, self-assured Otabek, not Bulat’s baby boy. I turn around and hug him fiercely because he is the only thing I can hold on to. His closeness and warmth make me sob even harder on his shoulder. Most possibly there’s no way I could humiliate myself more than that, but it’s not like it matters right at this moment.

Otabek is here, and he _cares_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed taking a peek into Yurio's head. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this oddball chapter (--> Hopefully, I didn't do a terrible job of portraying Yurio's insolence :D I've tried to toe the line between over- and underdoing the foul language).  
> What comes next is a Yuuri-centric chapter again (we focused on Viktor and Yurio some more, and we're back to our Katsudon). An all-Viktor chapter is on the horizon, too. I'd better not promise anything about the length and the publication time of future chapters anymore, though :D
> 
> Additional notes (with tiny spoilers):  
> 1\. On Yurio's memory: He has HSAM (highly superior autobiographic memory), one of the milder cases, which means that he started storing everyday memories from a young age that are more detailed than the ones of the average person. It's nothing deadly, but can be a pain, as letting go of the past is more difficult for him than the rest of us.  
> 2\. Otabek, Yurio, Bulat, Aynur, and blue-eyed Lucy (of course) won't be neglected while resolving the Viktuuri mess. We will be following the noteworthy events from Almaty (Yurio will be the storyteller for everything happening in Kazakhstan).  
> 3\. "Super-Andrey", Mama Talya, and opinionated baby Ani (this diminutive is not that popular in Russia, but Yur likes it best) are secondary characters that are here to stay (whatever Yurio might imagine right now :D ). There's no escape for the Ice Tiger King.  
> 4.The Viktuuri tension will be resolved soon (after it escalates a tiny bit more).


	11. In and Out (of Love?)

Viktor Nikiforov’s eyes fluttered open to reveal a world of blended colors and undecipherable shapes. The young man squinted, stubbornly attempting to discern the nature of the large dark red blur above him.

“Vitya!” a worried out of his mind Bernd von Düring exclaimed, tentatively laying a hand over one of Viktor’s. The skater had been found unconscious by the emergency team Bernd had called to action. He had woken up on his own by the time he was brought to the hospital, and as the German laid eyes on him while he was being transported to a vacant room, he had been crying, shouting, and trying to escape.

They had had to drug him in order to examine him properly. Luckily, he had gotten away with nothing more dangerous than a bruised chest. His mental state was the mystery; the doctors claimed it had to be a temporary shock, the reason why Viktor had subsequently gotten a mild sleeping injection. According to the medics, he would be much better once his body got a proper rest.

The first dose of sedatives had waned, and the second, much weaker one, hadn’t yet kicked in as Viktor was still blinking and squinting at von Düring with an annoyed expression.

“…Bernd Axel?” he finally asked, voice trembling, face blanching. He moved as if to stand up but failed even to remain in a sitting position.

It pained von Düring to see him like that. He had little time before Viktor was out again, and he had to make the most of it, so he answered quickly:  
“Yes, it’s me, Vitya. Everything will be alright, you, neposhlushnyy rebyonok.”

Viktor’s eyes widened in surprise before a shy smile appeared on his face.

“Don’t you smile at me, you are the worst, naughtiest, and most foolish kid on Earth; you scared the living hell out of me!”

The skater’s expression immediately grew sorrowful, and he turned his head away, wincing at the pain his overstretched neck muscles and tendons gave him.

_Damn, I just couldn’t keep my cursed temper in check!_

The businessman closed his eyes, breathing deeply. A tear rolled out of each of his eyes, as he opened them again. Von Düring moved closer to the bed and sneaked a hand between Viktor’s right cheek and his pillow, slowly turning the skater’s face in his direction.

“Я люблю тебя, Витенка,“ the German said softly, his thumb painting soothing circles on the smooth skin.           

Viktor’s body convulsed, and his eyes went wild in a matter of seconds. He rose up horrified, crying in pain as everything seemed to hurt. In the meantime, a pair of arms had engulfed him, gently supporting his back and his head, the person in front of him warm, worried, welcoming.

The skater’s fist unclenched, deep nail marks visible on the inside of his aching palms. He felt weak, every movement of his seemed to get rewarded with pain, so he stood still, struggling to rationalize the situation. He soon gave up – the terrifying words in Russian Bernd had said made no sense. The conclusion calmed Viktor down, so he complied obediently when the German begged him to lay down. Then the man laid his head next to his, cheeks making slight contact.

Viktor huffed, tensed, but as he caught a glimpse of Bernd’s ruffled ruby curls, he unexpectedly snickered, having a good idea how much time and hair gel it would take his friend to tame them again. He nuzzled into the comforting mess of hair until it vanished together with the warm cheek.

Von Düring was now looking at him from a sitting position. In a… Oh, no, just as he had feared – a hospital room!

“Vitya, you are fine, you are here to rest for a while, that’s all,” Bernd tried to assuage the slightly shivering skater, much aware of his disdain for hospitals.

“Take me away from here!” Viktor commanded.

“It’s only for a short while, Vitenka.” Bernd’s pleading look calmed Viktor down… Or was it the injection? Probably, the skater’s eyelids were hooding half of his eyes, and his breathing had slowed down.

“Stay with me?” Viktor asked hopefully. Von Düring clenched his jaw.

“I have to leave soon.”  _And I hate myself for it._

“At least until I fall asleep?” Viktor pleaded with a heartbreaking tone.

“Yes, of course.”  

“Thank you,” came out of Viktor’s mouth, but then some memories of the past night came back to him again, and he added a muffled, embarrassed “’M so sorry”.

“So am I. For so many things. We will talk again, Vitya. About everything that has happened between us, about everything that has happened to you. With Frau Steinmeier, together this time, and we will finally be able to leave it all to rest.”

Viktor blinked slowly. He’s so drugged already… Bernd thought, hoping to get some answer despite knowing there was a good chance Viktor wouldn’t even remember they had this conversation.

“Promise?” The softly-spoken question melted von Düring’s heart

“I promise. I have a scheduled summer leave from work soon. I will come and get you, Vitenka.”

“Hmph. My baby Yuuri, too, and Yasha, and Zhora, and Yurochka, and Lila…” Von Düring was shaking his head at Viktor’s blabbering. He had called Yakov “Yasha”, something Viktor never did; was “Lila” supposed to be Mila…?

“Axel!” the loud exclamation startled von Düring out of his thoughts. “Alissa?” Viktor added, his voice faltering.

“She… Got badly hit. They’re transporting her back to Saint Petersburg, but it will be long before she’s fully operational again.” That Viktor had called his Mercedes by her name was worrisome enough since he hardly ever did. Many people wouldn’t even bother fixing their car in such a case, but simply replace it. Looking at Viktor’s grief-stricken face, von Düring was already thinking who to task with making sure Alissa reached the local Mercedes repair store. He had lied, of course, he had had no time to think about the car. “In the meantime, I’ll get you a temporary replacement, da?”

“Alissa!” Viktor whined.

“You’ll have her back, I promise this, too.”  _If this continues any longer, I’ll probably end up promising the world to this neposlushnyy rebyonok!_

“Я люблю тебя, Акселюша!“ Viktor proclaimed in response, causing Bernd to burst out in laughter at the ridiculous “Axelyusha“, wondering how Viktor could even speak when he was that far gone. His love declaration only confirmed that his brain was shut down, given his horrified reaction at Bernd’s own love confession when Viktor was less drugged.  

Only to confirm Bernd’s theory, his friend’s mood switched to its polar opposite in seconds. Viktor’s eyes narrowed, and he spat out the Russian equivalent of “I hate you”, his exact words being: “Нет! Я ненавижу тебя, ты плохой.”

_Oh, Vitya, come on, I’m not mocking you here, you’re just charmingly delirious right now._

“Я очень люблю тебя, Витенка,“ von Düring countered with a broad smile, planting a kiss on Viktor’s forehead. His declaration of hatred towards Bernd immediately forgotten, the skater hummed with satisfaction, looking like an otherworldly creature with his silver hair and the drug-induced twinkling of his bright eyes. He proceeded to close his eyes and snuggle into the blanket, like a good boy after his parents had kissed him goodnight.    

Von Düring closed his eyes too and rubbed his temples. It was probably for the best for Viktor to sleep everything off; the German doubted he would be himself even without the sedatives.

As he opened his eyes, Viktor’s were staring back at him, with desperation.

“Yuuri! I’ve hurt him so much, made him hate me!”

Now, this was sober Viktor talking. Sober Viktor who had been lurking somewhere inside Viktor’s head, immobilized by the drugs, until his number one concern had pushed him to fight them. Of course, as sober as Viktor could be under the circumstances. He was more panicked Viktor than sober Viktor.

For von Düring, it had been so much easier with drugged Viktor.  He could tell a drugged Viktor that he loved him, he could kiss a drugged Viktor, promise him that everything would be alright without having a clue whether it would.

Being usually awkward with physical affection, the German didn’t even consider it a viable option anymore. Since he couldn’t lie to sober Viktor either, he reluctantly let the bitter truth roll out of his mouth.

“He might forgive you if he truly loves you. It won’t be easy, and you should have a solid reason for doing what you did, and…”

“What if he doesn’t love me enough?” Viktor whispered, tears escaping his eyes. Von Düring noticed that his friend’s eyelids had slid halfway again and that Viktor was struggling to keep them even halfway up.

“You give him up, keep your distance, probably do what you can for him, and move on.” _I am sorry, Vitya, I truly am._

“I’ll relay this to my heart, that trouble-maker… I will give up, yes, for real…” Viktor was slurring his words. His eyes were a devastated grey, before briefly going bright and twinkly, before closing and staying shut.

Von Düring took to typing messages while making sure Viktor was finally asleep. First, to Viktor himself, a quick summary of the facts for his forgetful mind:

To  **Viktor Nikiforov** : “You crashed into a stupid tree. Your car will be out of commission for a long while, so I’ll be sending you a replacement. Please  **STAY**  in that hospital as  **LONG**  as possible.  **NO TRAINING FOR A WEEK AT LEAS** **T** **!**  Call/write when you wake up. I wish I could stay with you longer.”

Viktor’s phone beeped. Good that someone of the emergency team picked it up from his car.

To  **Yakov Feltsman** : “Viktor crashed into a tree. He is physically well but freaked out. Calling him will be of no use for the next couple of hours; he is on sleeping medication. He’ll be released soon, but don’t let him leave today because he will try to!!  
I don’t know what this Lidia nonsense was all about, but do what you can to help Viktor smooth things out with Yuuri Katsuki. He’s head over heels for him through and through.  
I hope you are doing alright.”

Bernd added the hospital’s address and his name, in case Yakov had deleted his number (it wouldn’t surprise him if he had). He looked over the message in German again before sending it.

After caressing Viktor’s forehead and quickly smoothing out his hair, von Düring exited quickly. He didn’t have much time left before his flight to Moscow, given that he had to be at the airport an hour earlier.

As he found himself at Pulkovo, sleep-deprived and barely presentably groomed, he wondered where his annoying secretary was supposed to be, to make his day even worse. Fortunately, he remembered sending her back to Germany on unpaid leave for spying on his personal life in a fit of anger after Viktor left the previous night. Less fortunate was the fact that she was good at her job (minus the spying), and his workload in Moscow would double without her.   

Von Düring sighed in resignation, aimlessly looking at the people he would be caged with in a claustrophobically small rectangular cage floating hundreds of meters above ground for several hours… Ugly, ill-dressed, ill-mannered, too loud, too old, too young, too boring, too excitable…  
He could find more than one bad quality about every single passenger. It was a good thing that he would be sitting in business class next to a blank seat.

At that moment, a tall, long-haired woman reading a book passed by him, earning points for being good-looking and probably intelligent. He followed her with his eyes in a hunt for hidden bad qualities when a realization struck him. The resemblance was uncanny.

“Everybody is traveling to Moscow early tomorrow,” Viktor had mentioned.

Despite the significant number of flights to the different Moscow airports, here was said everybody, Lidia Alyona Davydova!

An evil smirk graced von Düring’s face as he made his way to the woman.

“Excuse me for interrupting, but you must be the famous prima ballerina, Miss Davydova, right? I am a huge fan.”

Narrowing down for being interrupted at first, her eyes lit up ever so slightly at being called “the famous prima ballerina”, before beginning to carefully inspect the man who had spoken to her. Recognition shown in her eyes.

“Would you by any chance have a name, Mr. Huge Fan?” she inquired with an even tone, the not quite friendly way Bernd was looking at her not escaping her attention.

 _Seems like my reputation precedes me,_  Bernd thought, Lidia’s unwelcoming tone duly noted.

“Bernd Axel von Düring, at your services,” the German made a small bow and flashed a wide-toothed smile as cold as Lidia’s blue eyes.

“I wouldn’t be requiring them, thank you,” Lidia said curtly, fainting going back to reading.

“Ah, but I wanted to invite you to sit next to me in business class since my secretary couldn’t make it to the flight today.”

“I don’t know what class you think I’m traveling, and I am not even remotely interested in your offer.”

“What If I told you I would love to discuss with you a mutual friend of ours, Viktor Nikiforov?”

“I would say that I don’t talk about people behind their backs.”

“Even if this statement is true, you misunderstand me. I’m not von Düring der Eisenkeiser taking an opportunity to harass Viktor Nikiforov’s former girlfriend. You are talking to Bernd, Viktor’s friend, who’s simply wondering what sort of human-being would publicly destroy a person’s relationship with the man he loves.”

“Haha, see who’s come to judge me, of all people. You really are full of yourself, von Düring, if you think you can just pop up here and swing accusations at me!” Von Düring’s fiery words and blazing eyes had sufficed to convince Lidia that he had told the truth about being Viktor’s friend, however bizarre the fact seemed to her. This didn’t mean he had any right to talk to her in the offensive manner he just had.

“Oh, yes, I have every damned right to hold you accountable, because Viktor not only has probably ended up without a fiancé, he also ended up in a hospital after a car crash last night!” The German was aware that he couldn’t put the blame about Viktor’s self-destructive behavior on one person, but his desire to vent out his frustration on somebody prevailed. Lidia was evil. She had manipulated poor Vitya. That Viktor was a mess because of reasons he wouldn’t share was way too arduous for Bernd to deal with.    
In the meantime, the boarding for their flight had started, but several people were staring at the former skater and the prima ballerina, looking as if they were beginning to recognize them. Lidia eyed von Düring with a hardened expression.

“You’d better tone down a bit unless you want more gossip on Viktor’s behalf in the press. Let’s go inside, I might have reconsidered talking to you.”  
Despite Bernd’s verbal lash-out, Lidia had briefly seemed genuinely concerned before she’d had the time to hide it. The German nodded, his face growing a little more serene, and walked side by side with the ballerina towards the boarding queue.

An argument with Viktor, followed by fear for Viktor’s life, concluding with a sleepless night. It had been more than enough to try Bernd  Axel von Düring’s far from perfect self-control.   

 _Now I’ve ended up owing Lidia Davidova an apology…_  Bernd sincerely hoped his day wouldn’t get any worse.

  
  
  
...xXxXxXx…

  
  
5 days later, Viktor Nikiforov’s apartment

“Whaaa, thick Russian site, I want that shirt, why isn’t it available online???!” Yuuri Katsuki whined half-aware he sounded like a mixture of the insolent Russian Yuri and his lovely baby Vitya. Last season’s childishly light-hearted Vitenka, of course. Yuuri bit his lip. Vityaaa xxxxxxxxxxxxx _!!_  his subconscious was lusting in another Eros-outburst, the unnerving side-effect of Yuuri Katsuki’s forced lockdown on the entire section of his brain that proudly bore the starlight-silver inscription “✰VIKT❤R✰“.

In an effort to quiet his obnoxious subconscious, he rubbed Makkachin who was spread out lazily in the skater’s lap. Were he a cat, he would definitely be purring.

“Luis Vuitton, you are an asshole. Since you haven’t got those shirts in stock, now I’ll have to compensate with shoes. But we got loads of those already, isn’t it right, Makka?”  
Makkachin licked Yuuri’s hand affectionately, making a low satisfied growl.

“Oh, I’m on board, old boy, the more, the better!”

 _Obuvyy,_ snikeryy _,_  the Japanese clicked on the Russian words hastily.

“This can’t be!”

He viewed hectically various sneaker models, eventually narrowing his choice down to three, and purchasing all of them.

“I just got the damnedest Eros sex sneakers on Earth!” Yuuri’s soft pink lips parted in a dashing self-confident smile. He wasn’t seductive awkward Katsudon anymore. He didn’t need to play a female seductress either. He was something better. He was Katsuki Yuuri. And he was going to be Katsuki fucking Yuuri to the fullest.  
This included finally obtaining the kind of clothing he had always admired but deemed too fancy, slim-fitting, or expensive for him. Things had changed. He was in top form.

He’d won a bunch of medals and sponsors. He deserved a treat for his diligence and perseverance.

His biggest treat was lying dead ahead though. A simple four-letter word.

 **GOLD**.

Grand Prix, Four Continents, Olympics, Worlds  **GOLD**. Quadruple fucking  **GOLD**. The shiny yellow inscription glowed blindingly in Yuuri’s mind, outshining the pale delicate ✰VIKT❤R✰ one. It was a matter of time until the silver letters were dismounted and replaced with the new, brighter ones.  

 _Vityaaaaaaaaaa xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx,_  the young man’s subconscious protested.

_You’ll get your Vitya in due time. Unless he backs down on the promise he made in front of Yuri Plisetsky, JJ, and Isabella. His loss if he does._

Yuuri got off the chair. Makkachin whimpered as he was unceremoniously placed on the floor.

Ignoring the poodle and the image of a golden-haired woman grabbing his Vitya and his Vitya kissing that woman back without wearing his engagement ring, Yuuri prodded towards the huge hi-fi in the very same Vitya’s living room.

Noow _, I rule the world. And the starry sky, spreading above,_  Jean-Jacques Leroy’s voice sang gently.

Yuuri was doing his morning stretches to the “Theme of King JJ”, the song he’d played on repeat for the last couple of days, after suddenly and inexplicably developing a likeness for it. He found it oddly comforting and inspiring, a stark contrast to how cocky and boastful it had appeared to him throughout the previous season.

 _I'll never give up even if the night should fall._ If Yuuri was asked to choose his current slogan, this phrase would be it. No more gaining weight and falling in depression; a true champion doesn’t let anything touch him and break his resolve. If he was ever to win gold, he had to stop allowing every miniature obstacle influence him so greatly.

Letting his entire existence revolve around Viktor was wrong and would only lead him to ruin. Viktor showed no signs of appreciating this creepy obsession on Yuuri’s part either. As little Yurio, of all people, had rubbed it into the Japanese’s face – the best he could do with his life was to have a decent career. If Viktor was interested, he would be his bonus prize for winning the 2017 Grand Prix Final. If not… Well, being the champion and dressing bad-ass would surely land Yuuri somebody to soften the blow with so that he could go on winning.   

Reverse that, he didn’t need anybody to sustain him emotionally. He would simply finally have some fun after the Final; being a 24-year-old virgin was dull and embarrassing, to say the least.

_Vityaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_When will you shut the hell up?!!_

Yuuri hit the “stop” button on the hi-fi harsher than needed, letting out a sigh of frustration. JJ was of no use when his uncontrollable subconscious was in this state. He had to pour his lingering soapy and shamelessly horny emotions into something else, and luckily, he had a very effective something planned later. He selected another song to complete his stretches with.

 _See the mirror in your eyes_  
_See the truth behind the lies_

That was a significantly better release given his current state of mind.  
Your eyes are haunting me.

Viktor’s enticing ethereal eyes flashed right before Yuuri. You are killing me, Nikiforov.

 _Falling in and out of love,_  was coming from the hi-fi, making clear what Yuuri had to do.

He would fall out of love. Eventually. Maybe even if Viktor agreed to be his in December, Yuuri wouldn’t even want him anymore. It would be better for his emotional and physical health, no doubt about it.

Soon after Yuuri was finished, someone rang the doorbell to Viktor’s apartment. As the Japanese opened, a delivery man shoved a large parcel in his hands.

“The rest is for you, too, gospodin Katsuki,” the man said, gesturing at the five huge cartons on his trolley.

Right…

2 x Burberry, 1 x Armani, 1 x Gucci… And Hilfiger + Levi’s to save some money. But the 31 629,99- ruble receipt inside the Hilfiger packet told a different story. The TH clothes’ dollar value of just 560,80, while sounding significantly less disturbing than their ruble one, was still more than steep compared to Yuuri’s usual clothing standards. Hadn’t he been careful to mostly pick items on sale, his shopping spree would have been an even greater financial disaster.

 _It’s a business investment,_  Yuuri reassured himself as he slipped a brand-new pair of ripped skinny jeans.  _If the right people catch sight of me in such clothes throughout the new season, I might land a top fashion brand as a sponsor._

While walking towards a beauty salon in an outfit that oozed much more Eros than originally intended, a much different take on his wardrobe renewal surfaced from someplace else in his head.

_I can be fucking sexier than any woman with 1-meter-long legs, golden hair, and plush lips!_

  
  
...xXxXxXx…

  
  
“You are jealous,” Georgi observed eyeing his friend’s tight outfit and smelling the provocative perfume he was wearing.

“What? No, I’m not.”

“Reeeaally?”

“You have to be in a relationship with somebody to get jealous.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Do I need a reason to dress well? Or is it because I’m nerdy, awkward Yuuri Katsuki that I’m not allowed to finally look good on a daily basis?”

Georgi’s expression got pained, but as he was about to answer, the door to the ice rink’s male dressing room swung open to reveal a smirking Mila.

“Hellooo, boys!”

“No one naked? What a shame!” she pouted immediately afterward. “I take my words back, this is even better! Yuuuuri, you’re tempting anyone to tear your clothes apart. Revisiting your Eros, are you?” Mila gushed after taking a closer look at the two friends.

“Hm, if you look like that during the day, I wonder how you’d look if I took you on a late-night date,” the young woman winked flirtatiously.

Yuuri’s face went through several shades of red until it settled on scarlet.

“Ah, Zhora, you can’t compete with him even with your V-neck tank top. Thanks for helping me out with training, though.” She planted a kiss on Georgi’s cheek. “See ya, hotshots.”

Georgi chuckled at Yuuri.

“Good to see there is something of Yuuri Katsuki left inside this diva package.”

“Did she just barge in the men’s dressing room?”

“Ah, she has a habit of doing that. It all started when Yakov sent her to drag me out of here for a competition right after Nadya broke up with me. She took it as a permanent permit to enter the men’s dressing room.”

“Uhh, does that mean…?”

“Yeah, she’s seen everybody in underwear, really. After the little blonde devil fell victim, he decided to even the score and stormed in the female dressing room one day. He ran from it shrieking; he’d seen Mila in underwear, taking her bra off, I believe.” Georgi made a pause to clear his throat

“How is he still alive?” Yuuri asked bluntly, memories of the tale how Mila’s ex-boyfriend had ended up in a hospital for cheating still vivid in his mind. The hockey player’s family had even wanted him to press charges, but he’d been too embarrassed to. He’d probably deserved it anyway, Yuuri thought darkly.

Georgi chuckled, oblivious to the grim turn Yuuri’s thoughts had taken.

“Yurio was a 12-year-old kid and couldn’t even look Mila in the eye for days. She didn’t stop making fun of him for months because of it, she still does sometimes.”

“How come she hasn’t caught anyone naked yet?”  _Like me, for example??!!_

“We just avoid showering here,” Georgi laughed. “Ah, but we have the key to the door hidden in locker 13 over there, so normally we lock if we shower.”

“Why the hell do I find out about this now??!”

“Aahaha, Yuri Plisetsky hasn’t told you on purpose, that’s for certain. As for Viktor… He enjoys displaying his naked ass. He never locks when showering and never even gets a towel to cover himself with when walking to and fro the showers. That’s how poor Mila found him one time.”

 _Seriously, poor Mila?!_   _I wish he still did that, Georgi, because he hasn’t since I’ve arrived…_  Yuuri thought wistfully.

“Well, that’s about how I saw him in Hasetsu for the first time, too. He was soaking in a pool at the onsen, and I just had to run over there to make sure it was really him. When he saw me, he simply stood up to greet me.”

“I didn’t know that was Viktor’s way of getting boyfriends.”

“Naah, that’s just his way of getting students,” Yuuri amended.

“So, you just couldn’t refuse such coaching professionalism..?” Georgi raised an eyebrow.

“Of course not, you refuse a naked Viktor Nikiforov!!” Yuuri exclaimed loudly, his cheeks reddening again. ❤  _Naked Vitya ❤_  was taking Yuuri’s mind by storm, while  _Damn, I’m beyond all hope!_  was twirling in the still unaffected spaces.

In the meantime, Georgi wrinkled his face in a disgusted grimace, thinking that the only thing he’d do to a naked SSZ would be to shove it in a room and not let it out until it put some damned clothes on.

“What about naked Vitya? I want to hear, too!” a deep voice suddenly demanded to know from the direction of the dressing room’s entrance.

For a second, Yuuri was convinced Yakov Feltsman had just read his mind and viewed all the scarcely clothed Viktor photos it was stuffed with at the moment, before remembering what he had been talking about with Georgi. This barely dispersed his embarrassment.

Fortunately, Georgi cried out loud Yakov’s name and wrapped his momentarily stunned coach in a bear embrace. After a good while, the older man said as tactfully as he could,

“Ahem, Zhora, don’t be such a child, let me go already.”

“You’re alive!!!” Georgi rejoiced in answer, not granting the request.

“Of course I’m alive, you glupyy zaychik you! Did you think you’d get rid of the Terminator Coach this easily, hmm? That I’d just vanish, and you’d be free to overeat on Stroganoff all you want?”

Georgi laughed, finally releasing Yakov, whose eyes glinted with a light Yuuri was uncertain he had ever seen there. Hm, maybe when Yurio won the Grand Prix Final…

“So, you’re back full-time, right?” Georgi made sure to ask while he had the opportunity.  
Yakov furrowed his brow, his face gaining its usual unwelcoming expression. Perhaps even a tad more hostile.

“I can’t say for certain. But am I to be absent on a given day, I’ll do my best to arrange training sessions for all of you with Maxim. He has time on his hands now that an ice dance pair of his has retired.”

Yuuri had no idea who Maxim was supposed to be, but his dirty subconscious immediately came up with a magazine of the same name with naked women on the cover.  _I’m going crazy. For real._

“But Yakov…” Georgi started meanwhile, displeased with the news his coach had just brought him.

“Zhora, I’m sorry, if this wasn’t important, I’d never mess with my students’ training schedules. I am sorry for the called off sessions and for disappearing like that, too. However, what’s going on right now is my own problem, and I’m not getting anyone else involved. Your concern is to prepare your 28-year-old ass for the new season.”

Georgi furrowed his brow, his feelings hurt.  _Why wouldn’t you tell me what’s going on, Coach?_

Yakov’s reaction to this was rather unexpected for the skater. The older man narrowed his eyes, angry flames dancing within their blue depths.

“Speaking of which… I’m gone for several days, and all hell breaks loose! Vitya’s…” A small uneasy pause followed, “…wrecked his silly million-dollar car; the blonde devil has moved out of his father’s and is off to Kazakhstan; Mila’s off to God-knows-where with some tattooed smoking garbage man, and you two are here discussing naked Vitya when you should have started training 15 minutes ago!”   

 _Wrecked?_  Yuuri was aware that Viktor’s car was at a repair’s store, but “wrecked” was a rather strong word. But Georgi beat him to speaking up with a question of his own:

“What was that about Mila?”

“Just as I arrived that careless girl was getting in the car of some ugly delinquent by the looks of him. She saw me, waved, giggling like some 5-year-old baby girl, and made that moron take off before I could do anything!”

“So, here’s the reason behind her flirty mood today.”

“Uh, shouldn’t it have been reserved for the tattooed smoking guy?”

“Haha, if the two of us got that much, imagine what a load of it that delinquent-like type will be up against.” Noting Yakov’s dangerous scowl, Georgi added, “Ah, you know she can handle herself, Coach, there’s no need to worry. She beats up huge hockey players, for Christ’s sake, while I get screwed over by petite innocent-looking ice dancers!”

“Yes, Georgi, I am well aware of this. But it doesn’t mean that wasting her time and energy on losers is a good thing for Mila. Seriously, Katsuki, of all the people my students have gotten involved with, you’re the only decent one. Huh, who would have thought Vitya would be the first to get an adequate boyfriend.”

_The hell, I am not your Vitya’s boyfriend, have you watched the news recently, Feltsman?!_

_✰ VIIIKT❤R✰_

_Yakov actually approves of me? And he called me Viktor’s boyfriend??_

A myriad of contradicting voices was overloading Yuuri’s mind. Why would Yakov Feltsman say any of this after Lidia appeared out of nowhere to sweep Viktor away? It was too late for such words. Only days ago they would have fuelled Yuuri’s confidence and given him hope, but all they actually served to do was to rub salt into a fresh wound.

“Uh, Coach, we’re thrilled that you came.” Georgi’s voice betrayed his uncertainty – both Yuuri and Yakov had distant and troubled looks on their faces, and he had little clue how to act.

The young man’s voice brought Yakov back to the dressing room. The coach cleared his throat.

“How couldn’t I? You rarely go against my advice, Georgi. I had in mind to stalk the two of you from the balcony before coming down to tell you what an awful skate you’ve made, but after no one showed up for fifteen minutes, it seems I got myself a front-row ticket for the grand finalization of your new short program, Zhora. We’ll see what it’s worth, but you’d better goddamned hurry up here and save naked Vitya for later!”

Yakov’s footsteps echoed in the corridor while Georgi grinned at a frowny flushed Yuuri.

  
  
...xXxXxXx…

  
  
Georgi and Yuuri exited a spread eagle simultaneously, then fell into a series of spins, their bodies bending gracefully to the music as each of them did his best to banish his residual love and heartache.

 _Let it fade away,_  a female voice sang beautifully. They ended the skate looking away from each other, stretching a hand in a shooing gesture.

Yakov skated towards them with approval in his eyes. He had watched their progress silently and was eager to give his opinion on the finished product.

“You have done well, boys, better than I expected. There is plenty of room for improvement, of course, Zhora, we want you to retire with gold, after all. But I am impressed, honestly. The synchronization between you was ridiculously good for a week; I am almost tempted to make you enter pair skating,” Yakov laughed mirthfully. One good thing had been accomplished while he had been away from the rink. It was enough to fill him with hope that everything else would somehow fall into place.

“Hm, I have to admit that skating with Yuuri is fun. What a shame that I’m too old to switch disciplines!” Georgi patted his friend on the back with a grin. The Japanese smiled back with much more restraint. His mind was visibly occupied with something other than the conversation at hand.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to show you my free skate, Coach Feltsman.”

The polite formulation was negated by Yuuri’s exacting tone. Yakov lifted an eyebrow at the unusual combination.

“Sparing ten minutes is hardly a bother, I believe,” the coach answered while struggling to piece out the reasons behind Katsuki’s sudden behavioral change. Had it been anyone else talking commandingly at him, they would have already been put in their place.  

Georgi was no less baffled than his coach, so when Yakov shot him a quizzical glance, he could only shrug and wonder whether his presence was welcomed or not. Figure skaters could become very touchy when it came to revealing their programs to competitors before the start of the season.

“You can stay if you want, Georgi,” Yuuri said as if having read the other skater’s mind. The Russian nodded and decided to make himself useful by turning the music on since Yuuri had already selected the track he needed and taken up position on the ice.  

  
  
...xXxXxXx…

  
  
“Gori, Gori Moya Zvezda” was playing, and for the first time, Yuuri wasn’t swept away by crippling sadness or selfless love and devotion. He felt comfortably detached – his reward for investing his troublesome emotions in Georgi’s skate to “In and out of love”. His head clear, he jumped and spun with meticulous precision, that of a would-be world figure skating champion.

The music was still playing as he finished.

“I don’t have the ending figured out yet,” he clarified for Yakov and Georgi.  _Because you still haven’t put an end to your one-sided love story. Just how long will you dwell in this insufferable limbo?_   Yuuri jerked uneasily, cursing himself for it. Even when he was as void of emotion as he could bring himself to be, something still tied him to Viktor Nikiforov.

“So, what do you think?” the Japanese continued, refusing to let his discovery unnerve him any further.  _Falling out of love would take its time, nothing new under the sun._

Yakov’s expression was one of sadness and regret. He managed a half-hearted smile which had Yuuri frowning.

“A great many would be envious of the skill and determination you just conveyed. But there was no love, not in a single one of your movements; your performance was stripped of it, painfully so. That is something a program to “Gori, Gori, Moya Zvezda” can’t survive without.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes.

“Songs can be interpreted in a number of ways. This is how I feel about the piece.”

Yakov simply shook his head. There had been barely any trace of feelings in the way the Japanese had skated. The older man stubbornly refused to consider the implications of the fact. Viktor was a sore loser, and his emotions were already all over the place. How long could he stand watching Yuuri Katsuki skate this way to this love song?

“Viktor must have told you already that “Gori, Gori Moya Zvezda” is too beloved a Russian romance to experiment with. There’s no need to take unnecessary risks; just find a more upbeat piece you can adapt your choreography to.“

For a moment, Yuuri was about to snap at Yakov. He had fought for “Gori, Gori Moya Zvezda”; he had developed a program on it all on his own, he wasn’t going to drop the song simply because Yakov Feltsman told him to!

Except that the legendary coach was right. Insisting on “Gori, Gori Moya Zvezda” could jeopardize his season unless he was willing to torture himself back into heartbroken Viktor-worshipping idiot mode. Which, of course, he was not. It would probably disrupt his newfound ease of executing the technical elements, anyway, and shatter his fledgling self-confidence.  

“I might be able to bring more feeling into my performance.” _Without reverting back to being pathetic._  “But if I fail, I’ll take you up on your advice.”

Yakov nodded, squaring his jaw. “Fair enough.”  _There may be hope for you still, Vitya…_   _But is it big enough?_

Yakov cleared his throat, effectively ending this line of thought. “Right. I’ll get going then.” However, he halted just as he was about to turn to leave.

“Ah, Katsuki? In case you need any help or a professional opinion in the future, just ask. I know I don’t strike as a welcoming person, but that’s how I am, nothing personal.  So, don’t let this discourage you.”

Yakov Feltsman, saying kind words with about two months’ delay again. Why the sudden change of heart?

Yuuri nodded wordlessly. Yakov’s departure was what finally made Georgi stir. He had watched his friend’s skate silently, face sullen, and stayed deep in thought throughout Yuuri’s exchange with Yakov. Noticing the change in him, the Japanese wondered:

“So, was I really so bad that you wouldn’t even comment on my performance?”

“What?! No, just… I agree with the Coach. You skated to a Russian romance without a hint of romantic feelings. The program will work only if you and Viktor make up.”

Yuuri eyed Georgi coolly. “No need for such dramatic statements. I’ll have picked a new song long before I’ll have had to rely on Viktor Nikiforov to swear his undying love for me. And if you have any respect for me, you will refrain from similar commentary in the future.”

Georgi averted his gaze. “No dose of “In and out of Love” can cure my romantic soul it seems. I’m sorry, I just… I’m just sorry for the way things developed for Viktor and you. But don’t mind such an irredeemable sucker for romance as me; it’ll all turn out fine for you, Yuuri, you are on top of your game when it comes to technical execution, and your Eutychia kicks ass.”

“Oh, I will make it turn out fine. And so will you, just don’t get your hopes too high up, I still intend to snatch all the gold medals.”

Georgi smiled. “That’s the spirit. I’ll go get us something to snack on from the fridge, OK? Better have something before we go on that shopping therapy we planned.”  

Yuuri nodded. Georgi slipped out of the rink grateful for the excuse he found to get some time alone and gather his thoughts. He was hungry alright, but his emotional state was what bothered him infinitely more. Or, more precisely - his bottled up frustration at the hopeless state of Yuuri's and Viktor's relationship. Both refused to talk through their issues. It was a matter of time until the fragile thing deteriorated to the point of no return.

Georgi had confronted Viktor and gotten no answers. He scowled while rummaging through the refrigerator. It had been a fool's errand to think that Viktor would share anything with him after so many years of mounting estrangement between them. What irked Georgi to no end, however, was the fact that his brother looked more and more like a shadow of himself and instead of fighting for his love, he was giving it all up despite it being painstakingly obvious this was fucking him up in every possible way.    

 _What the heck is the matter with that SSZ?!_  Georgi nearly asked aloud.

The common room wasn't more eloquent than Viktor Nikiforov himself. Georgi finished the sandwiches he was preparing with a long sigh. Getting wound up was pointless. The best he could do was be there for the one half of the dysfunctional couple that allowed him to.

Yuuri Katsuki. While at first glance he didn't seem to suffer like Viktor did, the cold demeanor he was developing was unsettling. Georgi was clueless how to react given that the phenomenon improved Yuuri's skating to some extent. Still, it was hindering his connection with his emotions... Which was probably the point?

Georgi shook his head in confusion and entered the rink where he was greeted by the sight of Yuuri Katsuki skating to the "Theme of King JJ". He wasn't surprised. It was all Yuuri listened to these days; the Russian had even caught him doing parts of JJ's program already. _Somehow, it's helping him cope with the situation,_  Georgi believed. He found it irritating that it had to be Jean-Jacques song; the amount of publicity the Canadian skater's recently published biography was gathering was ridiculous enough. What hidden depth Yuuri found in the "Theme of King JJ" was beyond Georgi.

This was of little relevance in the current moment, however. Yuuri looked the epitome of confidence while executing JJ's highly difficult short program. He wasn't doing an exact copy because he hadn't had the time to learn it that well. For Georgi, Yuuri's spontaneous improvisations were adding more value to the performance. He gave a fair share of applause when his friend was finished.

"Imagine JJ's face when he sees you can skate his short program better," Georgi grinned while accessing the recording of the cameras inside the rink and cutting the last 3 minutes. Time to shock the Internet community with another Katsuki YouTube video. It had been about a year since "Stammi Vicino" after all; why not mark the anniversary with another YouTube sensation?

"Georgi, what are you doing?" Yuuri asked dreadfully while struggling to remove his skates as fast as possible and hinder the smug Russian from doing anything stupid. When he finally reached his friend, Georgi showed him a YouTube page with the footage and the added description. He was a click away from posting it.

"Don't!" Yuuri warned. He wasn't sure how good his performance had been, and he was uncertain whether he wanted the attention even if it had been stellar.

"Why not? You were perfect, my dear. I say let the competition sweat the whole summer before the start of the season."  _God, I'm probably only making his recently inflated ego worse right now. Still, it's Yuuri we're talking about. Despite it all, he might still use some public acclaim; it might actually calm him down._

"You know what? Go ahead," Yuuri agreed, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Georgi's opinion could be trusted; he wouldn't upload the video if it wasn't good enough. The Japanese was also intrigued to find out what the public reaction would be. His lingering insecurity be damned. He could deal with the attention!

Georgi pressed enter.

"Let's switch our mobiles off and check what's happened with the video after the shopping tour? We won't get interrupted  during the afternoon, and we'll have plenty of entertainment for dinner."

"Deal."

  
  
...xXxXxXx…

  
  
Several hours later in a local shopping center, Yuuri waltzed out of a shop, looking incredibly proud of himself. On his tail was a grumpy Georgi, dragging several bags of clothes and muttering insults.  

"I told you already, Georgi, the opinion of foolish rabbits doesn't count. Yes, I do need three more new shirts."

"I didn't agree to this to watch you throw your money away and carry the endless shit you buy; I only wanted to cheer you up," Georgi grumbled.

"Well, the shopping is cheering me up," Yuuri flashed a naughty smile. "How did Yakov end up calling you "glupyy zaychik" anyway?"

"Ah, well...  He came to the local rink one day to search for new students. I was eight at the time and pretty much obsessed with Lutzes. I'd recently picked up the jump, so I'd go to the rink and do Lutzes for hours. Apparently, I also thought it a good idea to try jumping triple and even quadruple ones."

"Quads at 8?" Yuuri threw his friend an incredulous glance.

"I know; I was an idiot - I could barely do triples, trying quads was suicidal. So, after a quad gone horribly wrong, someone picked me up and carried me out of rink while giving me a thorough dressing down about foolish baby rabbits trying too hard for their own good. I was too embarrassed to dare look at the man, but I had no choice when he sat down, depositing me on his lap. Well, then I saw the man happened to be the former East Germany figure skating champion, Yakov Feltsman, and I bet I stared at him with my mouth hanging open. He proceeded to say that foolish rabbits like me needed strict coaches and that he could use somebody with my skill and determination."

"Aand what did you say to that?" Yuuri asked with a smile. This turned out to be quite the endearing story.

"I... hugged him. Heaven knows how long I clung to him."

Yuuri burst into laughter. "Yes, fine, I am the clingy type, everybody knows that," Georgi acquiesced.

"Naah, you're too cute, Georgi!" Yuuri said between laughs. "I just wish I could see Yakov's face, it must have been hilarious! It sort-of was during today's hugging session; imagine his surprise back then."

"Humph, the Coach likes to claim that hugs aren't his thing, but excuse me if I have my doubts about it. He endures them surprisingly well for somebody who dislikes them. And in emotional moments, he tends to grab you and throw you in the air if you're a kid, or hug you to death if you're too big to carry around."

Yakov, carrying Yurio after he won the Grand Prix gold flashes in Yuuri's mind. Followed by the traditional bear embrace he shares with Viktor after every gold won. _Yeah, alright, Georgi might have a point._

"Hey, wait a minute, you asked after my nickname's story only to get me to stop complaining about your crazy shopping spree!"

Yuuri didn't even have the decency to look sheepish.

"Ah, not quite. I figured the story might be worth hearing, but what was definitely worth it was shutting up your boring rant, so I took a chance."

"Blunt, aren't you?" Georgi sneered. "I am not going shopping with you ever again!"

"Fine, just don't spoil the mood again!"

An uncomfortable silence followed that Yuuri hurried to break. "How did Yakov even agree to compete for Germany instead of Russia? He's crazy about Russia; it makes no sense."

"Ah, you haven't read much about him, have you? It's all on the Internet. He was born in East Berlin to a Russian mother and a German father of German-Russian descent. He wasn't even a citizen of the USSR. Initially, he had no qualms about competing for East Germany, but they made him into a propaganda tool. With West Germany having no shining skaters at the time, his every win was supposed to represent the idea that the Soviet State was the better system. They wouldn't let him leave the country to the very end - 1990, when he was near retirement. So, he just skated for two more years for Germany before moving to Russia to take up coaching."

Yuuri wasn't feeling either sympathetic or understanding. The facts about Yakov Feltsman Georgi presented were contradictory, and he would very well point it out. 

"I still don't get it. In East Germany, they used him to further the Soviet agenda. If he liked Russia, why was he so much against the whole thing? And, in the end, he continued skating for Germany when he could have done two years for Russia. That's rather controversial."

Georgi eyeballed Yuuri as if he'd just killed a man in cold blood right in front of him.

"God, you sound exactly like everybody else. They never understand. The USSR and Russia aren't the same thing. That Yakov loved Russia back in Soviet times doesn't mean he's fond of near-totalitarian regimes. He's just always felt more Russian than German, and he is - his parents combined have more of a Russian heritage than German. About the last two years of his career - he finally wasn't being used as a tool for a police state, and it probably was too much hustle to transfer to Russia, get a new coach and all just for two years. He can't have been sure if he'd last as an active skater for more than one season, either. Not to mention that Russia was pretty much in disarray in the early 90ies."

This was getting too complicated too fast for Yuuri's liking. He didn't feel like involving himself in political discussions about communism with a Russian. Or basically, anybody whose country had been significantly affected by the Cold War. He was neither well-read on the topic, nor had Japan been much of a Cold War underdog, so he decided against speaking up lest he offended Georgi. He wouldn't let his attitude cost him his friend.

They walked in silence until a commotion to their right caught both their attention. In front of the mall's play center, there was a couple of bickering children while inside there were many more, caught in various activities. The children's clothing looked old and worn while they themselves were rather on the skinny side. A few kept to the corners, shyly eschewing everyone else or staring blankly into the distance, refusing to interact with the environment.

At a secluded table next to a painting little girl was sitting none other than Viktor Nikiforov, his figure and hair unmistakable. Yuuri began walking away the moment he spotted him.

"What? You won't even stop to greet him?" Georgi's eyes were narrowed. "Well, I will."

The Russian skater turned on his heel, not waiting for an answer on Yuuri's part. As he entered, he was met by an excited group of children, shouting "Zhora!".

"Hello, babies, it's good to see you!" Before he'd had the time to say this, he was assaulted by numerous questions and invitations to join the children in their activities.

"I'm sorry to say that I'm not bringing you any presents this time; the bags I'm carrying are filled with boring grown-ups stuff. Buut, I'd love to stay for a couple of games of whatever you want me to play with you."

Disappointment was soon replaced by cheers, and Georgi smiled warmly. He would have come prepared had he known that Viktor had taken the children for a city trip, and stopped at the mall.

Speaking of Viktor, he had risen from his place and was looking appreciatively at Georgi. His friend gathered him in a hug that Viktor welcomed until his eyes settled on Yuuri standing by the entrance. As his body abruptly stiffened, Georgi guessed the reason why.

"We went shopping together and saw you here with the children."

"Tell me you haven't..."

"No, I haven't said a word about anything. Look, I'll distract the kids, you talk to him!"

Georgi broke the embrace and was met with Viktor's distraught gaze.  _He wouldn't be nearly as afraid to talk to a three-headed monster,_ Georgi noted with a shake of his head.

"Alright, children, what do you say we start with bowling first?" Some of the younger children protested, but the older ones approved. Nonetheless, all headed for the bowling grounds.

"Ali, you coming?" Georgi crouched in front of the girl that had sat next to Viktor. She jumped in her place at the sudden attention and clung to Viktor.

"It's alright, love, you can go with Zhora now. We'll finish the painting later," he reassured her. She only gripped him tighter.

"Hm, I believe we won't have much progress here. Go bowling." Viktor smiled wanly, and Georgi let himself get dragged away by several impatient 13-year-olds.

Yuuri reluctantly came closer when Viktor was left alone with the little girl.

"Ali, look, this is Yuuri from Japan, a country far away from here. He lives on a lovely island and can go the seaside every day, imagine that?"

The girl looked up with caution, large shimmering hazel eyes inspecting the strange newcomer.

"Здравствуй," Yuuri greeted careful not to frighten the child away. He stretched out a hand and Ali, after a nudge from Viktor,  tentatively shook it.

"Hm, he doesn't speak Russian, you know. So, besides some basic words, he won't even understand you. We can gossip about him, and he won't catch a word of what we're saying!" Viktor forced an impish grin on his face.

"But that's not very nice, Vitya!"

Viktor sighed. "You are right, it's not. How about we sit down again? You can finish the painting, and I can talk to Yuuri for a while. We'll be talking in English, but no worries, just poke me if you need help or are wondering what we are discussing."

The girl looked uncertain.

"I promise we won't be talking about you. And I will be sitting right next to you, da?"

Ali nodded. The three took places around the table. The girl immediately took to painting while an uncomfortable silence started stretching between Viktor and Yuuri.

"So, uh, Zhora says you went shopping together. That's good."

Yuuri raised an eyebrow at Viktor's awkward attempt at starting a conversation.

"You canceled today's training session, and I had time on my hands."  _Apparently, you think it more important to spend time with these children, whoever they are, than prepare your student for the new season._

Viktor's face blanched as if he'd actually heard Yuuri's thoughts.

"I... I'm sorry; I needed some to myself..."

Yuuri struggled to keep a straight face.  _Time to yourself? You're never at home with me! Ah, wait, this probably includes the people he parties with at night. Got tired of them too, eh, Vitya? At least I'm not the only one._

"It's a funny thing how these children probably help me more than I help them." Viktor was looking out the window, his gaze distant.

What the kriff was that supposed to mean? Who were the children? What was Viktor even doing here? Yuuri had run out of patience, but if he bombarded Viktor with all those questions, he had a feeling he would shrink into himself. Needless to say, the Japanese would also appear disgustingly attached to Viktor, nosy, jealous, and whatnot if he started holding the man accountable for how he chose to spend his time. He was definitely done abasing himself on Viktor Nikiforov's account. 

The uneasy silence returned with a vengeance. The constant sound of crayons connecting with paper wasn't helping disperse the build-up pressure; it made it worse. Viktor fidgeted in his chair.

"How was the shopping?" came out of his mouth unbidden. He had to say  _something_ ; he would implode otherwise.

Yuuri had to stifle his laughter again. Just how freaking ridiculous was this conversation about to become?

So, how was the shopping?  _As fulfilling as it could be. Buying clothes you don't need to fill a void you can't stand. A distraction, not a solution. Only time can solve my problem. A couple more appearances at Pasha's show might speed up the process, though._

Viktor's fidgeting had gotten worse.  _Oh, he'd probably expected an answer. Sorry to disappoint; you'll have to do better if you want to get me to talk to you, dear._

Viktor's phone vibrated, positively startling him. He clumsily got it out of his pocket only to drop it to the ground thanks to his not quite steady hands.

As he lifted it from the floor with no visible damage to it and unlocked it again, it vibrated several times more. Viktor blinked at the display, then quickly pocketed the phone back.

"What was that about?" Viktor shifted in his place, surprised Yuuri would take the initiative to break the silence. Unfortunately, he had no idea what Chris' messages meant. What connection was there supposed to be between Yuuri, JJ, and JJ's short program from last year? And JJ had a published book? Did Chris expect him to know anything about it? Hm, perhaps it was something he should have heard about and probably had, but excuse Viktor if JJ's book was the last thing that concerned him and had therefore been timely deleted from his memory.  

"Ah, it was nothing," Viktor replied with a significant delay, shaking his head. Chris had attached some YouTube video; maybe it had all the answers. He'd watch it later. But whatever it was, it couldn't be important. People were bothering him unusually much this afternoon; he was rightfully annoyed. He'd been too busy with the children to read any messages, and put his phone on silent mode.

Meanwhile, Yuuri's gaze had grown cold.  _But of course it was nothing. Nothing you'd tell me._ Yuuri glanced at Viktor and saw a stranger. He neither knew his family nor his friends. He could only guess what he did in his free time. He didn't even have the faintest idea what was happening inside the man's head. 

He'd fallen in love with a stranger; he'd been no better than a teenager obsessing over his celeb crush and said crush's fictional feelings for him. That was how low he'd gotten; he wondered how Yurio hadn't been meaner to him.

Viktor never shared a thing with him and why the hell would he? First, it was Lidia, now it was children, well, the children at least Yuuri could live with, but what would it be next? He was furious and he didn't know whether he was madder at Viktor or at himself. Probably at himself. He should have seen it all coming.

"You know that Lidia dropped by last Saturday evening; after the Ice Palace training? She was looking for you; I totally forgot to tell you."  _Lie._  "Did she phone you afterward? It was a shame she missed you with her flight being early next morning; you might not get to see each other for a while."

Yuuri could only admire his inexplicable acting prowess. He was a terrible liar; the charade he'd just put up was a true masterpiece, something he'd never done before. 

Viktor was gawking at him.

"Yuuri... Lidia and I..."

_God, Gorgeous Vicky, you look like you're about to die. You're fucking the ballerina; that's not a crime._

"No worries, I saw Pasha's show. There's no need to explain."

Viktor breathed hard.

"Yuuri. There's nothing between Lidia and me. Nothing," Viktor's sky blue eyes were fixed on Yuuri's, imploring the person he loved to believe him. Yuuri was frowning. His expression was hostile.  _You could have at least had the decency not to lie to me. Why are you doing this, anyway?_

Viktor's last bet was to explain the motivation behind his actions. He had a nagging suspicion it might distance Yuuri even further, but he had to take the risk.

"We were a popular couple years ago, so we made an ambiguous appearance on TV, and let the yellow press get crazy with it. Publicity of any kind is important for Lidia's career. And it usually translates into more money, which I can use, too." Viktor had covered his eyes with a hand, unable to meet Yuuri's gaze.

This time, Yuuri let his laughter run free. It wasn't cold, mocking, or hysterical, but utterly genuine. He was laughing at himself. At his petty jealousy, at how the world had seemed to end because Viktor had kissed somebody that wasn't him. He laughed harder than he had in months. Because obviously, he had been a much greater fool than he had presumed. All the drama had been for nothing. Yuuri had dismissed everyone who thought the truth behind the kiss could be much different from what it looked like.    

The Japanese was shaking with laughter. Viktor and the little girl were watching him oddly. Hm, his behavior was probably getting too weird; he tried to stifle his laughter while rationalizing everything again. 

Viktor was the ultimate unknown variable. Yuuri was the ultimate blind fool in love with an idolized version of whoever Viktor Nikiforov was. Viktor hadn't cared to mention that he wasn't in love with Lidia probably because it should have been self-evident to anyone who knew him. Except Yuuri didn't and was the most paranoid man in town. Well, Viktor wasn't to blame for that. Also, while he held little romantic interest in him, he'd never been deliberately cruel to him. He might have even meant to tell him... Before he... forgot to??

Yuuri's laughter made a comeback. His world had ended most probably because he wasn't important enough for Viktor to remember he needed to be warned about his little scheme on Pasha's show!! Yes, Viktor didn't love Lidia, at least that offered some comfort. But the whole incident was a testimony to the fact that he didn't love Yuuri either. So, heaven knows what would turn out to be the reason behind Viktor's wedding talk. A mere manipulation that had to give Yuuri the motivation to win? What if his "just Viktor" had been Viktor playing his lover?  

The chilling thought shut the young man up. In the blink of an eye, he wasn't sure any part of him wanted to get to know the true Viktor Nikiforov anymore. 

Suddenly, burying his love seemed, albeit hard, entirely manageable. First, of course, he would be returning half the clothes he bought recently. There would be no void in his heart to try to cover up with bags of clothes soon enough. It would be good not to have gone broke by then.

"Yuuri? Are you alright?"

The Japanese shook his head. He was still in his chair. Viktor was holding the girl now and still watching him with mute concern and... fear? Yuuri shrugged; he probably wasn't reading him correctly anyway. If he was so concerned, he'd have been the one to ask why he had been laughing like a maniac. 

Georgi was the man who had. He had also somehow materialized in the room out of nowhere. 

"It's all good, Zhora," Yuuri grinned. "Will it be too much of a bother if we revisited some shops to return a thing or two?"

Georgi blinked in surprise. "I really wish I could be cross with you right now," he smiled. "But I guess it's better to get your wits back late than never."

"Dinner is on me," Yuuri promised appeasingly.

"Good. I have to say "Bye" to the kids though. Be right back," Georgi took off quickly, sensing something unspoken between Viktor and Yuuri.  _More like a pile of unspoken stuff,_ he mused.

_I've been an insensitive bastard for days. But somehow, the wrong people were my primary victims when it should have been Gorgeous Vicky. Maybe I should remedy this?_

Yuuri arched a hand sideways in a seemingly absent-minded gesture. Due to how close their chairs were, said hand ended up caressing Viktor's thigh, and, to Yuuri's triumph, partially his crotch as well.

He hastily removed his hand, trying to appear surprised and apologetic.

"Sorry, I was just trying to get my jacket from the back of the chair." He didn't sound convincing to his own ears. Viktor's eyes were wide, shocked, and if Yuuri dared say - longing. He didn't appear to have registered the made-up explanation at all.

Yuuri stood up and grabbed his jacket, looking at anything but Viktor. He had his suspicions confirmed - there was a tiny little something here, something physical. Viktor was definitely bisexual. Something he held secret. Because it might decrease his public appeal? Because he was Russian? Ah, so he probably hardly ever risked exposure... Hence the "fling" with Yuuri Katsuki; spending so much time with a man close to his age who adored him - even if the man wasn't much to look at, Viktor probably was affection-starved when it came to his own gender.  _Oh, I won't stop coming up with Viktor Nikiforov theories, will I?!_

In fact, Yuuri was half-embarrassed with himself, half-mad that Viktor hadn't swept him off his feet with a kiss... Or something. He had provoked him and only gotten an infuriating sky-blue dove-eyed look that was currently doing things to him he didn't want to acknowledge. Despite his better judgment, Yuuri let his gaze dart back to Viktor.

The dove eyes were still there with the difference that Viktor was clutching the little girl even closer. She had buried her head in his shoulder.

Yuuri's shame peaked. Not only had he resolved to underhanded sexual harassment, but he had also done it all in the presence of this frightened child that appeared to have some mental issues already.  _Well, better finish the job appropriately._

"Do svidanya, Vitya," he said half-mockingly, half-seductively, adding a playful wink as a final touch.  _Get a dose from your own medicine, Nikiforov!_

 As Yuuri turned to leave, Viktor looked like a kicked puppy.

 

 ...xXxXxXx…

 

 _Being evil just doesn't make you feel better,_ Yuuri concluded once he was a safe distance away from the mall's play zone. His disgust by how low he had stooped would not abate. He was angry at himself. Ironically, he was plagued by a desire to vent this anger on anybody or anything else.  _Now isn't this a vicious circle?_ he sighed. 

He had no choice but to admit to himself that his emotions were running wild and had been doing so for days. Only the "Theme of King JJ" kept him soldiering on as did what little self-respect he had - he wouldn't fail another Grand Prix because of poor self-control. However, if he kept on this track neither JJ nor anyone else would be able to stop him before he went off the rails. 

_I will do better. I'd rather end my wretched career right now than permanently turn into a monster. WHICH IS WHY I will NOT let my sick romance with Viktor make me do either!_

Yuuri's thoughts had turned way more serious than he was currently comfortable with, so he sought refuge in the virtual world. He turned his mobile on, hoping that somebody would have sent him some random message. Marie with some Hasetsu gossip. Minako threatening she would show up in Saint Petersburg unless he wrote or called more frequently. Somebody!

As soon as Yuuri entered his password, his phone exploded with notifications. 

_Oh, no! The bloody video!_

It was the last thing in the world Yuuri wanted to deal with. Retract that, Viktor took 1st place in this discipline (when doesn't Viktor get the gold after all?), so the Japanese took to plowing through messages with a heavy heart. 

The oldest one was from Jean-Jacques himself and was promptly looked over. Yuuri couldn't deal with it, especially given the fact he had ignored JJ's apologies for his inappropriate behavior at the dinner they had during his brief stay in Saint Petersburg. In the end, he had no sufficient excuse for not answering the man's weekly messages, so he bashfully skimmed through what everybody else had written him. 

Mostly, it was mountains of praise. Yuuri couldn't believe his eyes. He opened the video, expecting this to be compensated by the bashing of his performance by the public or JJ's fanbase at least. But the YouTube video had thousands of views and barely any dislikes.

"Ah, here you are! You know that besides forcing me to search the entire floor for you, you also did something to Viktor that had him barely speaking to anybody? The little girl, Alina, was even worse; it took me an eternity to bring them both back to reality!"

Yuuri glanced at Georgi. What was he to say to this? Plead guilty as charged? And what the hell was Viktor's deal these days?!! Yuuri at least had a reason for his assholery; Viktor had no right to be as... worryingly creepy as he was. He would withdraw into himself at anything; Yuuri had no idea what triggered it. Not to mention that he had been too self-absorbed and furious at him to give it more than a passing thought.

"Look," Georgi started with a serious expression, "I know he did you wrong. But he's my brother, and I won't just stand by if you continue turning him into some hollow shell of a person! Payback won't make you feel better; I have experience in the matter."

"I know," Yuuri answered petulantly. _What I don't know is how I will stay true to myself so close to Viktor. You don't get over a man you work with every day and live with unless... You leave, and, no, I can't leave; I dismissed this possibility already..._ To end the unpleasant conversation, he handed his phone to Georgi, saying simply, "Look."

"Wow," Georgi muttered, appreciating the hundreds of views and likes Yuuri's video had gathered. "Told you so."

Just as the words got out of his mouth, Yuuri's mobile started ringing. A grinning JJ appeared onscreen. 

"Hang up!" Yuuri pleaded instantaneously. "No, don't, just wait until he hangs up."

"Tell me one good reason."

"I've been ignoring him for weeks! I just can't talk to him right now!" 

"Oh, I've had it with people ignoring things until they blow up in their face!"

Georgi took the call. 

Jean-Jacques had his camera turned on. To Yuuri's horror, the Canadian was standing in front of dozens of people, wearing T-shirts with JJ's logo under which "JJ Style" was written. For some reason, they were all cheering. JJ held a hand up, gesturing for silence. 

"Yuuri! You got us all by surprise! Your "Theme of King JJ" skate was astonishing, which is why I'm coming to you! I'm at Heathrow right now; this amazing crowd decided to see me off after the JJ book premiere in London!" JJ had to wait until the applause dried up before continuing, this time turning to face his fans: "Sooo, everybody, listen! My flight to Saint Petersburg is in just an hour! In three more days, we I will be holding a skating gala at Viktor Nikiforov's home rink together with Yuuri Katsuki and Georgi Popovich! Feel free to spread the word, and no worries, we'll stream the event live on my YouTube channel!" 

Yuuri and Georgi exchanged puzzled glances. "I think it's good we answered the call. Now at least we know he'll show up sometime during the night!!" Georgi whispered. 

"Georgi, that's crazy; he can't just do that out of the blue!"

"Well, he's calling us right now to let us know," Georgi snickered. "Though I've no intention to argue the matter of his sanity."

"He's more focused on letting his British fan base know about an event that's not happening!!" Yuuri whispered back angrily.

In this moment, JJ turned to face them again.

"So, Georgi, Yuuri, see you at Pulkovo in about 4 hours."

"Four hours?!" Georgi and Yuuri exclaimed in disbelief.

"Yeah, flights to you from here take no time; part of the reason why I decided to pay you another visit!" the Canadian smiled dashingly. "This is going to be soooo... JJ STYLE!!" he shouted out, performing his trademark sign, the whole crowd behind him following suit.

JJ winked and waved goodbye before disconnecting the call. 

"I'll die before I let another video of me get posted on YouTube again!" Yuuri groaned. "What are we gonna do with him?!"

"I suggest dinner first. Then he'll have to stay at my place, I presume. And tomorrow we'll discuss the crazy gala thing he's planned at our rink."

Cutting the whole "What are we gonna do with JJ?" into sizable chunks calmed Yuuri down, but he was still far from content with the situation.

"We really could have done without another crazy coming to town. We're crazed enough as it is."

"Why content with crazy when things can get insane?" Georgi laughed. So did Yuuri.

"We're so fucked, my friend. Let's at least get rid of the damned clothes before the King arrives."

"My, I'll be housing royalty! In a Soviet apartment building!" 

The two friends headed for one of the many shops in the mall, trading jokes at JJ's expense. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are finally. I hope the characterization makes sense to you. There are still many missing puzzle pieces about Viktor, but we're already seeing him in a different light. The Bernd-Viktor hospital scene wasn't going to be included initially, but I think it gives us an idea of what the relationship between those two is (if it seems weird at first, remember that Viktor just crashed into a tree and Bernd got scared to death about his Vitya). The scene also shows how unstable Viktor is and that, honestly, he needs help ASAP (no surprise Bernd wants to drag him to Germany for a session or two with Steinmeier).  
> Yuuri might be suffering and going to the dark side a little, but (unlike Yurio) I totally vote for Viktor as the craziest of them all. Well, I do have all the missing pieces, after all.
> 
> Next chapter: Yurio and Otabek will be back! Maybe even Yurio's dad. "Fat Bulat" - definitely. :D  
> King JJ is a must, of course. Viktor will be pushed to the back seat a little, but the 13th chapter is going to be his own as much as the 10th was Yurio's, so important puzzle pieces are coming soon. 
> 
> Dictionary:  
> Neposlushnyy rebyonok = Naughty child  
> Я люблю тебя = I love you  
> Нет! Я ненавижу тебя, ты плохой. = No! I hate you; you're bad/evil.  
> Я очень люблю тебя, Витенка. = I love you very much, Vitenka.  
> Obuvyy, snikeryy = Shoes, sneakers  
> Glupyy zaychik = Stupid/foolish little rabbit.  
> Здравствуй = Hello  
> Do svidanya = Goodbye


End file.
